The air stung Ugegbe in the lungs as she raced after the one who had stolen her basket. It was an awful warp in fortune that she hadn't expected. Luckily for her, the culprit was small and slow, while she was bigger and fast.

That she wasn't an indigene of Zoro had not worked against her more before than now. Unlike her, the child knew his way around the market and the shortcuts that led out of the crowded areas.

Ugegbe felt her legs start to cramp as she doubled down on her effort. She increased her pace, and the heavens must have taken pity on her because, one second, her arms were flailing at her sides, pinning her wrapper every now and then; the other, she was grappling with a struggling adolescent.

Irritated by his unnecessary squirming and refusal to keep still, Ugegbe yelled, "Kwusia!" As she wished, he stopped shaking his head and limbs in trying to force his wrist out of her grip, but he would not meet her eye. "Nekene m," she requested that he look at her in a softer voice. "Look up at me." She repeated, and the small, matted head tilted backward to reveal a small face streaked with tears to her gaze.

Ugegbe's breath caught in her chest as she studied the gaunt eyes and haggard look that lent the child a cadaverous appearance. He was as thin as a stick, clearly underfed and undernourished. Ugegbe winced as her heart squeezed at how scrawny the poor thing was.

His state reminded her of the child at the palace when she first found him begging for food outside the court's kitchen. For a moment, she let herself wonder if he was well. She had no doubt Zelu would be taking care of him as she'd appealed her to but would have preferred if she could also see to his needs as before. She missed her best friend and the child she'd come to care for as an older sibling would have.

Bending at her knees, Ugegbe retrieved her goods and basket from the ground where her current captive had dumped it in shock from her catching him. She sighed as the child sobbed and hiccuped. "Gini ka i mere, nwata?" What have you done, this child?

"Gbaghara m. Gbaghara'm o!" He begged for her forgiveness, but Ugegbe was not inclined to grant him pardon so quickly.

"Why did you steal from me?" She asked, wanting to hear the child explain himself. It was evident that he was starving, but it was vital that she found out if he was sent by someone older than him. If a wicked person was in the shadows, using small, vulnerable children to do their dirty deeds, then she would make sure they were reported and received the punishment that was their due.

No answer had been given. Only sniffling and fretful cries turned the ambience sour. "Did someone send you?" She decided to ask what she wished to know from a different angle. Asking a person why they stole was somewhat redundant, she supposed. Being more specific might help the child in explaining his case.

"Mba." He shook his head. So no one had sent him. That was good to know.

She decided to try again. "Why did you steal? Is it because you are hungry?"

"No." A shake of the head again. Ugegbe was nonplussed. If he wasn't stealing because he was hungry, then why would he steal at all?

Perhaps, he wanted the money? Was he a slave as she was? One beholden to a wicked master? She dearly hoped not. Who would be so heartless to make a slave out of a child? The thought repulsed her, mainly when she imagined the eventual taint on his innocence. Anyone who could sanction such to happen was a monster who deserved nothing good.

Why would they sentence a little child to this pain? "Why?" She lamented to herself, but it ended up in an outward expression.

"My sisters..." he answered, seeming to cry harder.

A frown creased Ugegbe's brow. "Your sisters? You have siblings?" Oh, heavens. That explained everything.

"P-please d-don't h-hurt them." He begged through a harsh round of hiccups.

Ugegbe felt the stab of tears at his pleas. It hurt her that such a distasteful event happening was the child's first thought. What must he have gone through? She couldn't imagine, and it made her want to weep on his behalf.

"What is your name, dear?" She lowered herself to his height to diminish the threat she must be to him.

"Okoh." His name was a whisper that nearly evaded her grasp.

"My name is Ugegbe." She returned before realising her mistake. She hadn't lied about her moniker, and now the child knew her real name.

While she was glad she didn't have to lie to such a portrait of innocence when he had been sincere with her, she briefly wondered if this would pose a problem in the future. Unwilling to ponder it further, she let it go and focused on remedying what she'd done instead.

"But I want you to call me your big sister." Okoh peered up at her with big yet sunken orbs. He was clearly puzzled, but that was clouded with his curiosity, which warred wariness. "From today onwards, I shall take care of you and your siblings. Do you hear me?"

He nodded slowly. "You will be our big sister?"

"Yes, I will."

"Why?" This made Ugegbe smile. At most, he would have seen ten New Yam Festivals, but that did not hinder his maturity and cognition, which rivalled that of an older adolescent. She was pleased to see how smart he was. It was evident he was a good brother who would not put his siblings in harm's way.

"That is because you remind me of someone."

"Who?"

She grinned at his inquisitiveness, though the wistfulness she felt still seeped into her tone. She missed her home and all those she'd loved alongside the land of her birth. "A person I called my little brother too."

Okoh lifted his head to tilt at an angle, more interested than before in the tidbit of information newly shared. "Do you miss this person?"

Ugegbe was surprised her voice did not tremble as her heart did when she gave him the only response she could part with. "Very much so."

"Then you should go and visit them now!" His declarative advice was so out of the blue that it stunned Ugegbe. It was silent for a moment before she broke into hearty laughter. Why hadn't she thought of that before? The solution to her problem seemed so easy and straightforward that it was amusing to identify the many obstacles to that idea.

Instead of explaining matters she was sure he wouldn't understand, Ugegbe conceded to the suggested choice of action with a firm nod. "I shall do that."

Upon her declaration, Ugegbe noted his happiness had melted into a mist of naught. "But will you still want me and my sisters... W-will you still be our big sister?"

"Oh, but of course, my dear!" She replied instantly, putting his fears to rest, hoping they would remain dust forever. The fear that crossed his face when he imagined he would be abandoned struck her deep within. And just as quickly, her compassion had blossomed into a need to love and care for children who had not known enough of such sentiments.

"Truly?" His toothy grin was back.

Ugegbe took his hand in hers, clasping the small, bony appendage in her palms. "Nothing will change what I have promised you. I shall always be your big sister and care for you and your siblings. You must not doubt that, Okoh."

"Yes, ma."

She chuckled at the stuff respect that seemed to have erupted from nowhere. "There is no need to call me ma. Call me Nnukwu nwanne."

He shrugged and grabbed her hand, tugging her towards the market. "Do you want to follow me? I will show you my sisters. They are behind the market square."

Behind the market square? Ugegbe winced as the picture of hungry children living behind piles of endless refuse saturated her mind. She imagined their nose constantly running from the odours of rotting animal parts and human waste that sometimes made their way there.

It would explain the smell that encased Okoh like a fermented bubble, though she'd chalked that up to the children not having the chance to consider baths when their stomachs were empty and their heads heavy on their lean necks. Now, it was much more understandable. So were the suspicious brown stains on his tattered cloth.

"Come and show them to me." She declared but paused when she heard an angry voice yelling her name.

"Ezinwanyi!" The voice grew louder, and she surmised it was headed her way. She also knew, automatically, who it was.

Hastily, she turned to Okoh and pressed the roasted plantains into his hand. "Take this and share it with your siblings. I have a problem I must take care of, and you must go alone."

"No! But—" he protested, but Ugegbe was already hushing and sending him on his way.

"You cannot stay, or you might get in trouble. I do not want that. So go ahead and wait. Wait for me, o? I shall come for you before nightfall. You hear?" His sad nod was all the commitment she needed. "Tell your sisters I will come for you all. Do not fear or worry even if I take long. You must take charge until then."

Ugegbe marked the moment he put on a brave mask. It was the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. "Bye, Sister Ugegbe. Please do not forget us." He launched himself into her arms, and Ugegbe was too distracted to realise he'd mentioned her name.

"I cannot forget my brother and sisters." She answered, and she meant every single word.

"Ezinwanyi!" The huge bellow that came a moment later was so terribly loud that Ugegbe feared her eardrums might break.

Sparing a glance behind her to confirm that Okoh was gone, she squared her shoulders and faced her foe. "What do you want from me?"

Ifediaso was the portrait of vile rage as he glared at her with all his might. "What do I want from you? Do you truly ask that of me, wicked wench?"

Ugegbe sneered, feeling that familiar burst of anger that the guard had never failed to flare. He made her inconsolably incensed. "Wicked wench?" Her fake smile was imbued with rage. "I am not wicked. Neither am I a wench, Ifediaso. It seems only a cruel bastard would continue to insist that I am."

"Watch your tongue, pretentious whore! You act as if you are chaste and pure, but I know why the king favours you so. It is because you have sold yourself to him. I do not deal with dirty harlots like yourself; know your place!"

"You are miserable, and that is why you attack me at every turn. Even the lowest creature on the street is more of a man than you will ever be. At the very least, they have respect for themselves, which is more than I can say for you. Perhaps, you should learn a thing or two instead of strutting about with your head held high when you have nothing to offer!" She shot her burning words like bits of hot coal through the mouth of a catapult. It was her hope that her target received and felt the brunt of her hit.

Indeed, he did. For, Ifediaso's hands were wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly. Ugegbe clawed at him, bare fingers digging into his skin—having since lost her basket—but her breath was fast eluding her. "You stupid wench!" The odour from his mouth was foul. Ugegbe twisted away as it squeezed out what little air she had left in her chest.

Behind them, a crowd had started to clamour. A few shouts asking him to let her go bounced against her ears. Ugegbe persisted in fighting, throwing up a knee against her captor, understanding it would be hard for those watching to help. Only women spanned around in their quaint stalls and sheds. Ifediaso would hurt them if they stood against him, especially since he ranked above the average citizen as a royal guard.

She had begun to feel her consciousness slip from her grip when a deep voice broke into her haze. "Ifediaso! Step back this instant!"
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