The Messenger Of Estergat

Book 2

Kaoseto

Website:

https://kaosfantasy.tuxfamily.org/index-en.html

Work under a Creative Commons By license.

2022, Marina Fernández de Retana alias “Kaoseto”.

mail: kaoseto AT bardinflor P perso P aquilenet P fr

Redaction achieved using frundis and Vim.

Notes for reading

Time Time is counted in hours, days, moons, and years. A year has twelve moons; a moon, thirty days; a week, six days (Youngday, Thunderday, Brushday, Mistday, Kindday, Sacredday).

Names of moons Winter: Purple - Darkness - Mud | Spring: Straw - White - Celestial | Summer: Gadflies - Redmoon - Wells | Autumn: Joys - Wolves - Squalls

Saïjits The saïjits (a group of twenty humanoid races) have a life expectancy of 80 to 120 years depending on the place.

Currency Half-nail (coin with a hole), nail, five-nail, dixclous (rhomboidal shape), coin of twenty-five nails, coin of half a siato, siato (100 nails or cents, a goldy), coin of five siatos, crown (20 siatos, a whitewheel); assignat of 1 siato, of 2, 5, and 20 siatos

1 Under the oak tree

Let’s add and subtract.
Of that, I put a grain.
Of acid, another strand.
And it goes bong and bang.
Flamingos and zing, zing, zang.

Sitting on my bench in the corner of the room, I made a half-smiling, half-worried pout as I watched the alchemist. He was humming, shaking his flasks, making mixtures, and scribbling in his notebook.

It had been three weeks since I had been in the alchemist’s shelter, a house in Atuerzo, small but rather pretty, with a garden and all. I couldn’t complain: everything was fine. Aberyl was bringing us food, my broken leg was almost healed thanks to my mortic spells, and the alchemist wasn’t asking me any awkward questions about my necromantic skills, and on top of that, he was working on finding a cure for the sokwata. Or at least that’s what he said. When I heard him ask Aberyl to purchase certain items for his experiments, I always had my ear to the ground waiting for his new devilry. He never missed an opportunity. One day he would ask for a jug of radrasia, another for a large bunch of grapes, fresh eel fry, or a juice of some exotic berry. He would pay tribute to all these things by gobbling them up as soon as Aberyl left. Sometimes I had to remind him that I had two eyes, two ears, and a stomach to get him to think about sharing with me.

In short, we were both living like two princes for free under the benevolent eye of the Patron Saint. Korther had no idea of what kind of person he had helped escape from the mine. Seeing himself free of beatings, chains, and threats, the gnome did as he pleased. No doubt in order to feel less rushed in his work, he had tried to explain the effects of sokwata: it was, he had claimed, a mutation potion that made the body addicted to the product, but the lack of it only caused “severe pain”, which could be reduced, most likely, by a sedative. He had given a list of products, and all proved ineffective. However, after a few days, I learned from Aberyl that the Black Cat had already found a temporary remedy: karuja. It was a drug. Some people called it the drug of the nail-pinchers, as it was a very expensive drug. That’s why, for the moment, those who had the privilege of having the alchemist at hand, like me, had no interest in taking it. The strange thing was that karuja did not cause the usual euphoric and hallucinogenic effects in sokwatas. Yal, always cautious, said that it remained to be seen whether it did not cause a certain addiction. In any case, when Yerris came to visit me one night to tell me that the Priest was recovering like a champion, I asked him not to give my cronies any junk food, but tried and true sokwata. The Black Cat shrugged and replied, ‘As you wish, shyur.’

Now it turned out that Manras and Dil had joined Swift’s gang, seeing themselves abandoned on all sides. Sometimes it annoyed me a little to see how little Yerris cared for them. It was as if he’d taken a dislike to them, just because they’d been Ojisary cubs. As if he himself hadn’t been raised by them too! If I had been able to move, I would have gone to get them and brought them to the alchemist, defying Yal’s advice. Of all the gwaks, they were the most likely to be recognized by the Ojisaries who had survived the collapse of the mine. Since the Masked One, who knew us all, was dead, our other companions were relatively safe: the only signs that might have given them away were the scars on their hands and feet.

“Tralali, tralala,” the alchemist hummed. “Draen. Hand me that test tube from over there, will you?”

I stood up with my crutch and brought the glass tube which he was showing me to him. The alchemist was particularly active that day. I don’t know if he was really looking for the cure, but he sure wasn’t lazy.

I watched him as he poured a brown liquid into a new device given to him by Korther, an “essential” instrument, he said. The gnome cast a burning spell, took out the liquid, did some more mixing, and got a greenish solution, and I saw bubbles coming out of it. It smelled like a corpse. I wrinkled my nose.

“Mr. Wayam,” I said.

The alchemist was staring at his mixture.

“Mm?”

I hesitated, examining it too. Inwardly, I wondered if he had lost something essential that famous day of the explosion, and if he wasn’t faking it now, looking for a cure blindly. I didn’t know if it was the vials, the notebook, the brain, or what… but he really seemed to have lost something.

“How long do you think it will take you to find the cure?”

It had been perhaps three days since I had asked him. The alchemist gave me the same impatient look as last time.

“It’s not good to rush the professionals, boy. The more you rush, the less effective you become. You don’t want my potion to turn you into a hairy dragon cub, do you? All right, then: one thing at a time.”

I sighed.

“Okay. Dead round. Do you need me for anything?”

“Me? Not at all, kid. Go for a walk. Go outside and sing to the daisies.”

I rolled my eyes. Two weeks ago, he had caught me singing to the flowers in the garden, and since then, he liked to send me away with that phrase. I walked away with my stick, though I could hardly feel any pain in my leg anymore. I pushed open the door, went out into the hall, and from the hall into the garden. It was warm outside, though autumn had already begun. For days, the sky had been covered in ash, whether it was from a volcano in the Ash Mountains or from strong winds that had lifted the ash from the Manash Desert was unknown; in any case, according to Yal, the concerns and interpretations about this black cloud had made the front pages of all the major newspapers, and the news of the “rock collapse” in the Labyrinth had gone, as it were, unnoticed.

I wandered between the flower-covered shrubs. The afternoon sunlight illuminated the colorful petals and yellowing leaves of the oak tree in the corner of the garden. I sat down at the foot of the tree, took out my sharpened stone and some hazelnuts from my pocket, and began to break them and eat them with delight. And with no less pleasure, I listened to the peaceful buzzing of the insects and the soft whisper of the breeze. My smiling eyes wandered from flower to bee, from bee to fly and from fly to cloud. And to think that it was thanks to the Masked One that I could still contemplate all this!

I had just buried the shells when I saw a figure appear through the back gate of the house and I stretched my neck before smiling. It was Yal. I hadn’t seen him for four days. The young Black Dagger entered and, glancing around the garden, saw me greeting him with a raised hand and smiled as he approached.

“I don’t know why, I just remembered on the way here that on this very day, just a year ago, you came home completely drunk to the Den and sang: long live autumn!”

His smile widened, mocking, and I calculated. Gosh, it was true: it was the first Kindday of Joys. In a good mood, Yal sat down next to me under the tree and inquired:

“How’s your leg?”

“Perfectly. I could chase a hare, it’s healed,” I assured. “I know I’m keeping the Alchemist company and watching him and all that, but… I don’t know if it’s necessary, honestly. I’d like to go. I have my cronies, you know. They’re with my namesake, Swift, and—”

“Yeah,” Yalet interrupted, clearing his throat. “Look, nobody’s forcing you to stay. Anyway, Aberyl’s already coming to visit the alchemist. And, truth be told, I don’t think that gnome is going anywhere with all the comforts Korther is offering him.”

I huffed.

“Sure he’s not gonna leg it, he looks like he’s having the time of his life with his potions. Right away, he was with something green that smelled of corpses. I wouldn’t drink that stuff in a thousand years! Hmm. So… if I can leave, I might as well leave tonight.”

Yal nodded, his face slightly darkened.

“And where are you going to go? To Swift?”

“No way, not if Syrdio the Galloper is still hanging around him,” I said. “I’ll take my cronies and go to another spot. Outside the Labyrinth. That place is fine, but for now let’s just say I don’t feel like staying around there. Even with amulets, you can’t push luck,” I observed, tapping my silver pendant hidden under my shirt. Yal had given it back to me, and the truth is, I was glad he hadn’t lost it. It was, after all, the only thing I had left from a time I hardly remembered, and obviously it had enabled Yal to go to Kitra and back without much incident. On the other hand, as soon as I’d parted with it, all the devils had fallen on me: the Well, the sokwata, the explosions…

Yal shook his head.

“The Ojisaries are no longer a real danger, sari. Without the mine, the Black Hawk is left without a trade. Rumors say he’s gone far from Estergat with a fortune and left his henchmen to fend for themselves as they can. Give the devil your hand and he’ll stab it with a dagger, as they say.” He threw away a weed he had plucked and added serenely, “So you prefer the street to this house?”

“Ragingly,” I assured. “You don’t know how hard it is to sleep with that snoring gnome telling me about things that go boom, and things that make you bald, and drinks that get you four more eyes, yes, yes, I swear, he told me that,” I insisted as Yal laughed. “So, yeah, I’m literally always afraid his concoctions will explode and the house will blow up. I prefer the street; the street doesn’t blow up. Unless…” I hesitated, and Yal gave me a questioning look. I finished, “Unless Manras and Dil can come with me to the Den.”

Yal grimaced and looked up at the glowing evening sky, taking in a breath of air.

“Well… Listen, sari. First of all, the Den no longer exists. Rolg is still… er… on a trip, and Korther sold the house.”

This shocked me more than I could have imagined.

“He sold the house?” I repeated.

“That’s right. At Rolg’s request. I think… you already know a little about his problem.”

He stared at me intently, and I shrugged.

“Well, actually, no. I’ve seen it… and I know what it is. But it doesn’t seem so bad to me.”

Yal closed his eyes for a moment and laughed.

“Devils. Not so bad, you say… Tell me exactly what you saw. Red eyes? Black marks?”

“All of these,” I confirmed.

“And you say you know what he is?”

“A drasit,” I said. And as Yalet arched an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, I said, “A demon. My master told me that I had to be careful with these people because they hate the undead, and they say that they are the most alive beings, and the undead, on the other hand, draw life from the morjas, and the drasits don’t like that. But you know what? I think it depends a lot on the person. Maybe Rolg wouldn’t say anything if he saw… my hand. But I’d rather not try, huh? You never know. Ah, I don’t know what was going on with him when I caught him… transformed. He really seemed to have a problem. But I don’t know if it was because he was angry at seeing me or… I don’t know,” I concluded.

Yal looked at me with the same expression he’d had a year and a half before when he’d learned that I had a nakrus master and knew the forbidden signs of Caeldric, or Morelic as they called it. I returned a quizzical expression, and he cleared his throat.

“Well… I didn’t know about the undead stuff,” he admitted. “We learn something new every day, don’t we? Mmph. Anyway. I don’t know if I should tell you more about it; after all, it’s Rolg’s business, not mine, but…” He hesitated, “In any case, don’t tell anyone what you saw. If it got out, Rolg would be in the same trouble as you if—if the guards caught you with that hand, you understand?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Natural.”

Yal shook his head gently, looking relieved.

“Okay. Look, Rolg is having trouble with the energy that allows him to turn into… what you know. The same thing happened to him four years ago. He almost lost control and… he says it could be dangerous. Not for him, for us. That’s why he left.”

I nodded, confused.

“But… he’ll come back, won’t he?”

Yal smiled at me.

“Yes. When he regains control.”

I bit my lip and asked:

“Does Korther know?”

“Mmph. Naturally, he and Korther have known each other for a long time.”

I looked at him.

“Is he also…?”

“No idea,” Yal admitted, interrupting me. “I never asked him. It’s not the kind of thing you ask lightly. Korther hates personal questions. But you have to admit, he’s not in the habit of prying into the lives of his fellow coworkers either. Except…” He pouted and straightened, stepping away from the trunk. “Tell me, Mor-eldal. I guess you’re aware that Korther knows you speak… Morelic. It was not I who told him,” he assured. “He found out that night with the Wada, when you started humming that lullaby your master taught you. I only confirmed it and told him that you had known someone in the valley who had taught you the language but that I had not asked you about it. I didn’t tell him more. Well… it so happens that just today Korther wanted to know how well you knew how to speak Morelic. I told him I had no idea. So he asked that you go and see him as soon as you’re cured. He must have some work that has something to do with Morelic, perhaps an old scroll to translate, who knows. If that’s what it is, I wouldn’t charge him less than ten nails a line.”

The news aroused my curiosity, and I stood up.

“Is he at the Hostel?”

Yal frowned.

“Hold on a sec. He said, as soon as you’re cured.”

I made a brief gesture with my hand.

“Bah, bah. I’m cured. Can’t you see?”

“What about that crutch?” he scoffed.

I left it against the oak tree and said:

“Completely fine. Is he at the Hostel?” I repeated.

Yal rolled his eyes and smiled.

“I think so.” He stood up in turn, with an amused sigh. “You are incapable of sitting still for a few days, Mor-eldal. I’m going to go say hello to the alchemist. Aren’t you going to say goodbye to him?”

“Natural!” I affirmed.

I ran to the house almost without limping, opened the door, poked my head into the laboratory, and shouted:

“I’m going, sir, I’m cured! May the spirits watch over you, your utensils, and your potions!”

The alchemist did not look away from his instruments. As I walked away, I heard him say that I don’t forget to sing to the daisies or something, I laughed, and left the house.

2 The purple stone

The alchemist’s house was not far from the border with the Cat Quarter, and it did not take me long to reach the Hostel. I pricked up my ears, but the door was so thick that nothing could be heard through it. I knocked and waited.

When the door opened, Aberyl appeared, his blue muffler on, and his light yellowish eyes smiled.

“By the starry sky, if it isn’t our crippled hero!”

I smiled.

“Ayo, Ab. Can I come in?”

“By all means, come in, come in. You’ve come for a little work, haven’t you? Korther told me about it. Right away he’s in the middle of a business meeting, but I’ll let him know anyway. I love to disturb him. Make yourself at home.”

As he walked away, through the back door and closed it behind him, I stepped into the room. On the table was a small pile of nails, and looking for a reason not to put them in my pocket, I said to myself, “they are not yours, Mor-eldal”. Besides, a Black Dagger did not steal from another Black Dagger. What an idea!

Averting my eyes, curiosity led me to approach Korther’s armchair. I touched the fabric and noticed that it was padded and all. After glancing at the door, I sat down and sighed, smiling. It wasn’t bad at all. It was even more comfortable than the ones at Miroki Fal’s house. I stood up, sat back down, and quickly examined my leg. My bandage was already several days old. I was thinking it was time to remove it when the door opened, and I jumped to my feet. Aberyl gave me a joking look.

“Getting ready to become the kap in a few years, huh?”

I blushed and huffed.

“No, no, that’s not it. I was just trying, that’s all.”

“Sure.” I could clearly see the glance he gave the pile of nails before adding, “Korther wants you to come by his office. The meeting is already over. Go ahead.”

I followed him, and we passed through two rooms before we went up some stairs and into the said office. The rest of the rooms were rather soulless, but the office was spacious and well-lit, with all sorts of luxurious furniture and a large carpet which seemed to be embroidered with gold thread. Korther was sitting in his chair, writing a letter with a huge black quill. He looked up, put down the quill, and smiled.

“Thanks, Ab. Welcome back, lad. Come here, come here. How’s your leg?”

“Healed,” I replied, coming closer.

The kap had a pile of sheets, inkwells, and impressive quills before him, and in his left hand, he was holding a small oval purple stone.

“I’m glad it healed. How did it go with the alchemist?”

I looked like I didn’t know what to say, and he smiled again at my expression. Obeying his gestures, I went around the desk, and he pushed a small sheet of paper full of signs towards me.

“Tell me, lad. Do you recognize these signs?”

I frowned and examined the writing.

“Not quite,” I said at last.

Korther arched an eyebrow.

“Not quite?” he repeated.

“I mean, they look like the ones I know, but they’re not the same,” I explained.

“I understand,” Korther murmured. “Out of curiosity, where did you learn them?”

I shrugged and said:

“With a very old man.”

Korther kept silent for a moment, and strangely enough, seeing that I said nothing else, he did not insist. He pushed aside the sheet of paper with the signs on it, and leaned back against the chair, saying:

“Look, the night you helped me steal the Wada, I heard you speak… a strange language. A language I’ve been trying to learn for a few moons now that’s more hellish than Owram. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

I nodded calmly.

“Caeldric.”

“Correct,” Korther smiled. “Caeldric, the language of earth, which, as a result of some of the killings perpetrated by the Halinasg, came to be known as Morelic, the language of the dead.” He gestured vaguely with his hand, taking on a storytelling air. “Such was the hysteria that entire libraries were burned down to destroy all books written in Morelic. Throughout the Great Republic, which then stretched from the Harpoon Mountains to the White Sea of the East, those suspected of complicity with the Halinasg were thrown to the stake. Today, only certain spiritualists who want to give themselves a macabre air learn Morelic. And the signs are still forbidden. However… in the Underground, it’s still in use. And in the western lands, it is considered simply a dead language, learned and forgotten. A language learned by scholars.”

He played with his purple stone for a few moments, thoughtfully, and then, bringing it before my eyes, he added:

“Do you know what this is?”

“A purple stone?” I suggested. And as I saw a mocking glint in his reptilian eyes, I corrected, “A diamond?”

“Nothing to do with a diamond: it’s a relic,” Korther replied. He placed it on the table and clasped his hands together, recounting with obvious pleasure, “Aberyl brought it to me last moon. Do you know where he found it? On a beach in the Lands of the Blind One. As incredible as it sounds, this relic can float. So it can’t be made of ordinary stone.” He paused. “It took me a good while to figure out how to activate the relic, but, now, when I do, I can sometimes hear whispers of voices. The other day, I recognized a word in Caeldric. Something like ilshuay. It means water, doesn’t it?”

“Salt water,” I agreed.

“Even better,” Korther muttered, observing the stone with obvious interest. “My intuition tells me that this relic is of incalculable value.”

He picked up the stone again, looked as if concentrating, then looked up, and handed it to me:

“Take it.”

I hesitated, mainly because I didn’t know which hand to use to pick it up, whether with my left hand, whose sokwata skin had a kind of anti-energy shield, or with my skeletal hand, which was undetectable against magical alarms. I finally chose the latter and grabbed the stone. I felt a jolt and flinched, but I didn’t let go of the relic. The pattern on it was so complicated that I gave up trying to figure it out after a few seconds.

“It’s activated,” Korther said as he stood up. “Don’t let go of it. Sit down and wait to hear the voices. Then…” He placed a blank sheet of paper and a quill on the desk and with a gesture invited me to sit in front of it, in a chair no less comfortable than his own, concluding, “Translate whatever you can.”

I nodded, and thinking again of those ten nails per line that Yal had recommended I ask for, I inquired:

“And what do I get for it?”

Korther rolled his eyes.

“Listen to me, son. The first thing for a good sari is to get along with his kap. Think about it. Don’t you remember getting more than one award in the last few weeks?”

I paled. Darn.

“You mean the meals, the bandage, the house, and… and the gnome? Well,” I said with a clearing of my throat, as he nodded calmly. “Okay. All round. So, I translate.”

“You translate,” Korther approved, smiling. “Think that the more favors you do me, the more I will do you. And Mr. Wayam’s remedy is one of them.”

He was a bit quick to assert that the gnome would find a real cure, I thought. But I nodded nonetheless and turned my attention to the purple stone. For a long moment, we said nothing. I kept shuffling my feet and examining the relic; Korther was writing a letter with a large black quill. When he finished, he used a seal with black wax that represented a dagger. He got up, opened the door, and went down the stairs, calling:

“Ab!”

I heard murmurs downstairs, the sound of a door, and finally Korther came back. He seemed to be in a good mood.

“Still nothing, huh? Sometimes hours can go by. In the meantime, maybe you’d like to do some reading. Yal told me he taught you how to read Drionsan. Let’s see,” he said, rummaging through one of his shelves. He pulled out a green booklet with a small smile. “Maybe this one.”

He handed it to me, and I read the title out loud:

“Theo-ries on… infernal creatures.”

I arched my eyebrows, looked up at Korther and, meeting his attentive violet reptilian eyes, I swallowed. I bet a fivenail he’d chosen that book on purpose. Nevertheless, I opened it and, curling up in my comfortable chair, began to read.

«In every age, in every civilization, there are legends and myths, stories invented or inspired by reality, by remote historical facts distorted by time. The abnormal is monstrous or divine, and in different peoples and races, over the centuries, events, traditions, and creatures that were once ordinary have become strange, and other beings and ways of life, conversely, have endured and become normalized.»

I continued to read without much excitement and was already turning to the second page when suddenly I felt a vibration and looked down at the stone. I heard a soft laugh and a:

“Good day!”

But I heard it so low that I could hardly understand it. More murmurs followed, and I managed to catch words: quiet, safe, path, yes, yes, work, sleepy, good, locate, clumsy, unimaginable, and… Korther suddenly grabbed me by the arm and put the quill in my left hand. I gasped.

“I can hardly hear them,” I protested.

“Well, at least you can hear them, that’s something,” the kap said. “Listen to them and write everything down, lad.”

I obeyed, and leaving aside the book on infernal creatures, I leaned on the table and began to transcribe in Drionsan one word in twenty of those I understood, if not less; that was because I not only had trouble hearing, but I had trouble remembering the signs. As Korther said, Yal had taught me to read… not so much to write. Besides, the frequency with which Korther got up and walked around the office to read over my shoulder didn’t help me concentrate.

Finally, the murmurs turned into inaudible whispers, and then I glanced at Korther with embarrassment, hesitated, and cleared my throat.

“I… I can’t hear anything anymore, Korther. It’s broken.”

The kap rolled his eyes and reached over the desk to retrieve the stone.

“It deactivated itself,” he explained. “It happens after a while. It’s normal.”

I sighed with relief, for to have broken the relic when Korther seemed so excited would have been a blunder indeed. Fearing that he would activate it again and ask me to continue, I stood up.

“So that’s it, isn’t it? Damn, my left hand hurts like a toughsteeler ran over it—”

“It’s okay, lad,” Korther interrupted me, looking half-exasperated and half-amused. “I don’t think your sheet full of scribbles is of much use to me, but… you can go. Come back tomorrow at eight o’clock at night, and I’ll give you fifty nails if you do the same thing as today.”

I gave him an inquisitive expression. Fifty nails to ruin my hand and patience with a quill? I bit my tongue, barely concealing my smile.

“It runs, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Korther gave me a playful look, and I was already opening the door when he called out:

“Hey, lad! It’s good that you’re so cheerfully accepting my money but… be careful not to accept money from just anyone, huh? There are conmen everywhere: look at how the Black Hawk used his henchmen. No matter what the mercenaries say, the money is only as good as who gives it to you.” He smiled, “Get out of here, lad.”

I took one last curious look at him and went out, closing the door. I walked down the stairs, pondering on his words. I knew that the Black Daggers did not only do jobs offered by the kaps, but also made a living for themselves, and they engaged in grand theft, and smuggling, and all sorts of activities. And, of course, they had dealings with people who were total strangers to the brotherhood. Only the spirits knew why, at that moment, Korther had wished to give me such an obvious piece of advice. I shrugged and went into the front room, where I found Aberyl with his boots on the table and his chair balanced, drumming on his arm with one hand, looking absorbed. He was doing absolutely nothing. Except thinking, perhaps.

“I’m off, Ab,” I said.

“Ah! It took you long enough. I guess that means you know how to speak the infamous forbidden and evil language.” His blue eyes smiled, and I returned a comical grin. “Good night, boy.”

“Good night!”

I left the Hostel with the impression of leaving behind me two beings who, for normal sajits, would enter the category of infernal creatures. I was pretty sure that Korther was a demon. As for Aberyl… Well, if he had been a sajit, how would he have gotten in and out of the salbronix mine without even feeling the effects of the vampiric foam? I had never asked him that question… and I didn’t know if I wanted to know the answer.

It was a festive night, so the neighborhood was alive with instruments and singing. I agitated both hands energetically as I walked down an alleyway. My right hand still felt like it was being shaken by slight electric shocks, and the other was numb from the quill. I hadn’t gotten much out of what I’d heard through that purple stone, but what I did get left me wondering. Clearly, the relic had a sister relic somewhere, and through it, two people were attempting spells to locate the one Korther had. They had spoken of brejic energy, monoliths, auditory canals, and a purple orb, and the most incredible thing for me had been to hear the name of “Marevor Helith” mentioned several times. I knew the name: he was an old friend of my master’s, one of the few nakrus he knew in person. I still remembered what my master had said about him, something like:

‘As far as extravagance goes, he has no equal! That nakrus is a bold one: the last time I saw him, he was heading back to the West with the intention of becoming a professor at a sajit academy. He is a great magarist. Once, he gave me a flower that would not wilt. It lasted almost two hundred years. And do you know what I gave him? A horn full of water, to quench his thirst!’

And he had burst out laughing. It was nakrus humor. I must say, having been raised by one, I understood it more than well. I shook my head as I walked absentmindedly through the streets.

“Marevor Helith,” I whispered.

It intrigued me to know that on the other side of that purple stone there were two mysterious people who knew Marevor Helith. And it also filled me with emotion, because… well, it reminded me that my master was still in the mountains, waiting for maybe… maybe, a ferilompard bone that wasn’t coming.

I swallowed and said to myself: come on, Mor-eldal, do you still believe in this ferilompard quest? He said it to chase you away, so that you would go and see the world, there is no such thing as a ferilompard! Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Maybe they didn’t exist now, but… what if they had existed once? Then, of course, there must still be some ferilompard skeleton somewhere and…

I shook my head, laughing at myself. Dependent as I was on the sokwata and with friends I wouldn’t give up even for a hundred thousand siatos… did I really want to go back to the mountains with my master now? No. I just missed him, that’s all.

I passed a noisy band of drunks, and when I had left them behind, I decided to take off my bandage. I found that the scar was hardly visible. That way, if anyone I knew saw me, they would ask fewer questions. I used the cloth as a belt, and, satisfied with my new attire, I walked straight into the Labyrinth.

3 It’s a beautiful day, Mor-eldal…

I went directly to Swift’s refuge and found that the dead end was now closed with a palisade and a gate.

“Blasthell,” I muttered, surprised.

I went forward and groped. I looked for an opening. There was none. Then a voice came from a dark corner:

“Gwak! Are you looking for Swift?”

I perceived a silhouette at the back of the porch of a house. The face was half hidden behind a worn-out hat.

“Dead round, I’m looking for him,” I admitted. “Do you know where he moved to?”

“Two days ago, there was an quarrel with the neighbors, and it was decided to wall off the dead end,” the man commented. “It’s a pity, because that Swift isn’t a bad guy. If I were you, I’d go to the Wool Square, surely you’ll find someone who knows. As they say, nobody knows where the gwaks are, but, of all people, the gwaks know where everybody is.”

I smiled.

“Natural. Thank you, sir. Good night.”

“You’re welcome. By the way,” he added in a low voice. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s someone following you.”

I stiffened and turned my head very slightly to one side. I saw nothing, but I said:

“Blasthell, thanks, grandpa.”

“What grandpa? I’m thirty-two springs. Happy festival.”

“Happy festival to you, comrade!” I replied mockingly then bellowed away:

The neighbors don’t want us around.
Despicable isturbags!
They chase the gwaks off.
Are they devils?
La-ri-lon, la-ri-lan.
We’re not devils.
You guys are!
Beetle-headed clumps,
bunch of nail-lickers,
intolerant people,
house snatchers.
One of these days, I swear,
they’ll rob us of the street!

I took the opportunity to bang my fist on a nearby door, and ran off. After a while I felt myself limping a little, and I started walking, hoping that whoever was following me would have lost sight of me.

Before going to the Wool Square, I decided to pass by The Drawer. I didn’t have a nail to buy food, but I had information. I could always throw out some promising phrase, convince Sham to buy me dinner, and tell them something like: the Ojisaries are gone and they’re not coming back. With an air of mystery and a good story to tell, no doubt someone would feel sorry for me and agree to buy me a meal. On the way to the tavern, I fabricated a story that the Ojisaries had been attacked by the Spirits of Vengeance themselves and had run off. I was still working out the details when I pushed open the door and said:

“Ayo, ayo! A meal for the starving bard with an exciting story to tell about the Ojisaries! How are you, Sham?”

I walked over quickly and sat on a stool at the counter, and the tavern-keeper gave me a forced smile.

“Ayo, bard. Uh… you’re not going to tell us any more wild stories about uh… the Oysalians?”

I frowned, and only then did I notice the strange silence in the tavern. I turned my head and found myself face to face with a bald, tattooed giant. He was accompanied by a bearded man with a purple headband that held back an impressive head of braids and a young woman with blue hair wrapped in a long black cloak. All three carried swords. Guards? They didn’t look like guards. They looked more like mercenaries, killers, or hitmen… And they weren’t regulars at The Drawer. I stared at them, bewildered.

“Kid. Do you know anything about the Ojisaries?”

It was the blue-haired woman who had spoken, in a voice that was both soft and urgent. I swallowed and made a strangled sound before saying:

“Ojisaries? Did I say Ojisaries? I meant the…”

I glanced at the tavern-keeper, and he kindly came to my aid:

“Oysalians.”

“That’s right. I was talking about the Oysalians,” I asserted. “The Oysalians of the Spirits, may they be blessed this day with autumn, grapes, wine, and their mothers and all their ancestors. The Ojisaries!” I exclaimed indignantly. “Let them go to the dragon’s cave and see if he warms their calves!”

The regulars burst out laughing, and I took advantage of this moment when the atmosphere was relaxed to ask Sham for dinner again, saying in a fluent tone:

“If you don’t mind, put it on my account; I haven’t any money on me tonight, but tomorrow I shall have some for sure.”

Sham pouted and put a plate full of porridge in front of me anyway.

“It’s okay because it’s you, bard; I only do this for good customers.”

“Well, precisely!” I smiled, taking the spoon. “Thanks, Sham.”

And I began to gulp down the porridge and chew my bun as if I had not eaten for days, which obviously was not the case: the alchemist might be able to scare me to death, but not starve me.

Still, my dinner was a bit spoiled by the presence of the foreign mercenaries. I paused when I heard the bearded man clear his throat. He called out to the entire tavern:

“We would be grateful to anyone who could inform us of the whereabouts of the Black Hawk. If you have any information on him, come to The Ballerinas and you will receive twenty siatos.”

The majority turned a deaf ear. Only Sham leaned over the counter and said in a voice that was nevertheless quite audible:

“Sorry, sir, but I don’t think these people know any more about the Black Hawk than I do. He was the kap of one of the many bands in the Labyrinth. It ended badly, apparently, but I have no idea what happened. Sincerely.”

I didn’t care if he was sincere or not. The only thing that bothered me was the intense gaze the blue-haired woman was giving me. She seemed to be reading my mind.

The bearded man gave the tavern-keeper a skeptical pout and muttered through his teeth:

“Let’s get out of this den.”

The giant with the tattoos emptied his cup in one gulp, the blue-haired woman looked away from me, took one last look at the tavern and, without altering her inscrutable face, nodded. As soon as the three of them walked out, the tavern came back to life with guffaws.

“You’ve made us one of those entrances, bard!” old Fieronilles barked. “We were waiting for those strange fellows to go away, and you just come barging in talking about the Ojisaries.”

“Oysalians, Oysalians!” I corrected him, scratching my head. “What did those guys want?”

“You heard him,” Sham said, leaning on the counter with a dish towel and a glass. “They were looking for information on the Black Hawk. More than one is looking for him. Apparently, there’s a nail-pincher who wants to locate him because that damn smart one allegedly walked off with a fortune that belonged to the nail-pincher. That’s what the bad tongues say. Where the hell did this crook go now? What’s clear is that I wouldn’t look for him in Estergat. He may well have gone to Doaria or Azach. Wherever the gust of wind does not reach him, you know what I mean.”

“Let him hang himself straight if he’s isturbagged enough to have stayed in Arkolda,” snorted Yarras, the White’s ruffian. And he casually left the cards on the table as he turned to me. “So, bard. You said you had an exciting story to tell us?”

“Oh…” I pouted and gave everyone a cautious look. “Well… to tell you the truth, I can tell you a lot of stories, but none of them really… specific to the Oysalians. Let’s just say that I was looking for an audience to fill my plate,” I confessed quite frankly.

My reply was greeted with smiles and appreciative exclamations like “look at that trickster!” or “not stupid!”, and old Fieronilles assured:

“It doesn’t matter! Anyway, the Ojisaries don’t exist any more than the Oysalians now. To me, it’s like they’ve turned into toads.”

Several nodded loudly in agreement, and seeing that interest in the Ojisaries and me was waning, I pushed the empty plate back toward Sham, slid off the stool, and tossed to the tavern-keeper:

“I didn’t forget I owe you one, Sham.”

“I didn’t either,” he replied with a small smile. “Sleep well!”

“You too!” I said, and I came out of there with an, “Ayo, everyone!”

As soon as I closed the door I turned my head to the left, to the right, and looked to the left again. There stood the strangers at the end of the street. And there were not three of them. There were five. And all were armed. Good mother…

When I saw that one of them was taking a step towards me, I took my heels in the opposite direction.

“Hold on, kid!”

I did not listen. I turned the corner and ran down the stairs as fast as my infuriatingly lame leg would allow. I was thinking that the strangers were not pursuing me when suddenly someone grabbed me roughly by the arm and hurried me against the wall. I screamed, and my attacker growled in my ear:

“Shut up or I’ll kill you.”

I closed my mouth and was already preparing to give him a mortic discharge when I recognized his voice and terror overcame me. It was Warok. If only I could touch him with my right hand… I struggled, and he elbowed me in the ribs. As soon as I heard growling, I stood still as a statue. The dogs, I realized, horrified. Warok was with Adoya. Adoya and his seven dogs. I let out an appalled yelp and heard Warok’s little laugh.

“Listen, you filthy scum. I’m going to feed you a deadly poison that will kill you in minutes if I don’t give you the antidote. But, if you tell me where my brother and the Black Cat are, I will give you the antidote. Only if you tell me where they are, understand?” He slammed me against the wall again, and I felt the hard rock against my cheek. “I know you’re friends with Manras. He betrayed us because of you. Talk or I’ll rip out your eyes and entrails before I kill you.”

And I’m supposed to buy that you’re going to give me the antidote, I thought wryly. Everything went very quick. First, Warok asphyxiated me with whatever it was. I struggled to get air, but no sooner had I opened my mouth than he put a bottle between my teeth. Much of what he poured out was lost, but I had to swallow the rest against my will. There it was. The deadly poison was in my body. I was already, so to speak, dead. A sort of demented, vindictive gravity came over me. What did it matter now what I could do?

I cast a harmonic spell of intense light, and taking advantage of the surprise, I managed to free myself enough to grab Warok by the arm and send him a mortic shock. The dark elf fell to the ground. I saw the vial slip from his hand, picked it up in a rage, and poured what was left of the poison down Warok’s throat, shouting:

“Murderer!”

“That’s enough!” Adoya shouted.

I looked up abruptly and saw the seven dogs lurking about, perplexed, waiting for their master to join them. My madness faded for a second. And I ran away. It was a mistake. The dogs, seeing me move, threw themselves at me, barking loudly. I didn’t know which was better: to be eaten by the dogs or to be poisoned. I hoped that if they ate me, at least the poison would kill them too.

I fell to the ground in the middle of the pack and felt teeth grabbing my arms and legs. I screamed, and threw out random harmonies, and even made harmonic sounds, I think, but I was probably the only one who could hear them. Finally I stopped moving because the more I moved, the more it hurt. The dogs were just biting to keep me from leaving, but all I knew at the time was that they were going to eat me alive, and I was gasping for air, feeling like I was suffocating, and my head was reeling with horror. I understood at that moment why some people said that sudden death was a blessing.

Then I heard a voice that was both powerful and distant:

“Tell them to let go!”

I did not hear what Adoya said, but in any case, the dogs released me one after the other. The problem was that I could not see anything. Well, yes, I could see trunks. And I could see a slope with grass and a wonderful sun. But I couldn’t see what I was supposed to see in an alley of the Labyrinth. And while thinking that, I said to myself, but what alley are you talking about, Mor-eldal? You are in the valley, can’t you see it?

Yes, I could see it. And I could see the squirrels too. And my master. He was there! His skeletal figure, wrapped in a dark green cloak, was walking down the slope towards the stream I was lying beside.

“It’s a beautiful day, Mor-eldal,” he pronounced. “I’ll bet there are plenty of crayfish downstream. Are you going to go hunting?”

I straightened up and nodded.

“Yes, yes. I’m going. Do you want me to get you a rabbit?”

“No, son, no. You already brought me one four days ago. Surely you don’t want to make me overweight!”

He laughed, and I laughed happily too. Something caught in my throat, and I coughed, and then I heard a dull growl, and I turned, my heart racing. There, between the bushes, I saw fangs appear. It was a wolf. I screamed.

“Elassar!”

I got up, and knowing that my master was safe, I ran off to find a tree. There was a beautiful tree there, with a branch not too high that I used to climb when I was little…

However, I never reached the tree, and it was not because of the wolves, but because I ran into the air. An extremely hard wall of air. I was stunned, and I heard a voice say:

“He’s gone mad.”

“Tell me right now what was in that bottle, you devil!” a female voice cried.

I blinked, felt arms grasp me firmly, and saw, like a flash, a most disconcerting scene. I was standing by a wall, surrounded by the bearded man and the giant with tattoos. The one with the bluish hair was crouching beside Warok’s inert body, a dagger in her hand. And a red-haired caitian and a blonde who looked suspiciously like the Blue One were facing Adoya and his seven dogs, swords in hand. And Adoya looked visibly frightened.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Drugs, apparently. They were probably fighting over it. That’s all I know. My dogs smelled drugs, and they didn’t like it… I had nothing to do with it. Good night.”

To my astonishment, he turned around and simply walked away with his dogs. The mercenaries let him go.

“You rotten sack of bones,” my nakrus master spat in my ear.

I nodded with a sneer of hatred. Adoya was a coward. Okay, at least he hadn’t ordered his dogs to eat me. But he was a coward and a wretch. He called me a raging drug addict, and on top of that, he abandoned his companion to his fate.

The Blue One broke the silence with a slightly strained voice.

“You know what? I don’t want to alarm you, but we have a problem. This elf is dead. I don’t know if it was the drugs or something else… but he’s dead.”

Dead? I blinked, but could not make out the meaning of her statement. I heard the bearded man hiss a curse.

“What are we gonna do?” the caitian muttered.

“Are you seriously asking? Let’s get the hell out of here,” the bearded man replied energetically. “Sarpas, take the kid.”

“We’re going to take him?” the Blonde wondered. “He looks so dazed I don’t think he’s much use to us.”

“He’ll perk up,” the bearded man assured. “Zoria. Let’s go. You won’t resurrect the other one.”

“I didn’t intend to,” the Blue One replied, standing up. “It’s clear that this guy attacked the boy first and not the other way around. Let’s get the hell out of here right now,” she added.

The whole conversation was nothing but a confused buzzing that my mind could hardly grasp. The scene in the alley seemed far, far away. My eyes could see with far greater clarity my squirrel friends rapidly climbing a log; and the splendid blue sky of the valley; and my nakrus master, quietly climbing the hill towards the Cave, perhaps to take one of his books and sit on his trunk or at the entrance, to enjoy the beautiful afternoon…

I barely felt this giant called Sarpas lift me up in his arms and pull me away from… I am not sure what from.

4 The vase

Right under my nose was a huge dog with its fangs exposed. Its dull, menacing growl came to me with impressive clarity. I had been looking at it, eyes wide open, for a long time, I don’t know how long, maybe hours, days… To me it was as if I had been seeing death coming for an eternity.

“Come, little one,” a voice whispered to me. “Come on, don’t be afraid. I’ll sing you your favorite lullaby, okay? Come on, listen, don’t tremble.”

Still, I was shaking. I was shaking, but I didn’t know why. Was it fear, or was it the stuff Warok had made me swallow, or was it because I had consumed my entire energy stem with so much magic… I didn’t know. It didn’t matter to me now, because my master was there. Sitting beside me, he handed me a clean rabbit bone, and I took it between my teeth as he began to sing softly:

Survivor,
don’t be afraid.
The storm’s going away.
I’m here, you are not alone.
Don’t be afraid.
The storm is already gone.
Sleep peacefully, my child.

But the thing is that the huge dog kept looking at me, showing its teeth and growling like thunder.

Sometimes, the Cave became a well-lit room, with figures moving about and talking in low voices. At one point, the bearded man came up to me, forced me to my feet, and said:

“Hey! Wake up, kid!”

He shook me, but I only managed to stammer without much energy:

“Let go of me, isturbag.”

I didn’t take my eyes off the dog, a rather easy task as he was always facing me, wherever I looked.

“Hold on a sec,” the bearded man whispered. He reached for my neck, and I backed away; I bumped into the wall, and he then grabbed my pendant, his expression frowning. “Where did you get that from?”

I looked at him defiantly, and he dropped my silver pendant, shook his head, and walked away. At last, by sheer force of will, I managed to chase the dog away. I hissed at him repeatedly:

“Go away. Go away. Go away!”

Then my nakrus master intervened, he cast a spell, and the dog disappeared. I caught my breath, groped around until I hit a log, sat up, curled up and, seeing thousands of stars appear in the sky, fell asleep. The last thing I felt was my nakrus master kindly laying a blanket over me. The strangest thing was that when I woke up, I was also under blankets, in an unfamiliar room and in a… bed. Devils. It was my first time sleeping in a bed.

For a few moments, I was nervous as I realized that I had no idea where I was. Then I remembered the day before, Warok, Adoya, the drugs, and… the dogs. Terror threatened to take hold of me again, but I pushed it aside and worked on analyzing my new situation. I was in a large, comfortable room with several beds. It was already daylight and a diaphanous light illuminated the wooden floor. And there were people in the room. The Blue One and the Blonde—two of the five strangers who had pulled me out of the alley where… where Warok had died. Was it I who had killed him? Without a doubt, but I didn’t know if it was because of the mortic shock, the blow he had taken when he fell, or the product in the bottle. In any case, it hadn’t killed me, but I was a sokwata, I thought suddenly. Unless… unless Warok had lied to scare me and not really poisoned me… but I doubted it. In any case, I was more relieved than saddened by his death.

I sat up, and my movement interrupted the whispering of the two women sitting on a bed. Seeing them together, it was impossible not to notice the resemblance. They looked like twins, except for the color of their hair. One, the blonde, had a strange black scar running across her cheek. Both wore loose, dark clothes.

As they both looked at me, I remembered that these strangers thought I knew something about the Black Hawk, and I stiffened.

“Ayo,” I whispered.

I slipped out of the covers and stood up, moving away from the bed. I didn’t feel comfortable in this place at all. I took a quick look out the window and recognized the noisy Tarmil Avenue and the store across the street. We were in The Ballerinas. Why had these people taken me to the inn they were staying at?

“Who are you? Why did you bring me here?” I asked, making a vague gesture with my hand.

I saw the two young women exchange a glance before the blonde spoke up.

“Good morning, boy. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” She stood up, and I watched as she positioned herself so that she was blocking the door. She gave me a beaming smile. “I am Zalen. And this is my sister, Zoria. And we brought you here because we didn’t want to leave you alone in this state with a corpse. You’ve been raving all night.”

I made an apologetic pout.

“Damn. Well. Thank you. So… can I go now?”

The Blue One cleared her throat, and the Blonde’s smile grew even wider.

“We didn’t kidnap you, kid, but if you have any information about the Black Hawk and the Ojisaries… Who knows, you might have heard something.”

I looked at them both and shrugged. Then I saw the Blue One take out several gold coins, and my face darkened.

“No, ma’am, I can’t take that. Why are you looking for the Black Hawk? For a reward?”

The twins exchanged another look, and then the Blue One said:

“Actually, we’re not looking for the Black Hawk. We’ve heard… that the Ojisaries have a hostage. An important hostage. A gnome.” I think my flinch did not go unnoticed, for her eyes sparkled. “That man is a friend of ours.”

I breathed in, looked casual, and shook my head.

“Sorry, ma’am. I don’t know any gnomes. Can I go now?”

The Blue One looked upset. The Blonde, on the other hand, smiled.

“Sure. You may go. And we promise to leave you alone and not talk about that dark elf if you don’t tell anyone about the… gnome, understand?”

My pulse quickened as I thought they might accuse me of killing Warok. I swallowed and rolled my eyes.

“Natural. Not a word, ma’am.”

I passed Zalen nervously and, already at the door, stopped, and cleared my throat.

“By the way. Thanks for… last night. If it weren’t for you, right now, those dogs might be gnawing on my bones.”

I hesitated and looked at both of them. I was afraid to talk too much, but… the curiosity was too strong.

“Why are you looking for that gnome?”

“Why, you ask?” The bluish woman rose to her feet and stepped forward with a nimble gait while brusquely stating, “Because he’s like a father to both of us.” She came so close that, in order not to have to support her eyes that seemed to see everything, I looked away several times, uncomfortably, as she continued, “Imagine two lost and desperate teenage girls, wandering for moons and moons through wild lands because, in the lands of the sajits, they are called monsters, and suddenly, bam, a man pops up and offers a cure for all their suffering. He takes care of them, pampers them, loves them… And years later, a bunch of devils appear who enslave us and separate us. It is in such circumstances that fury is reborn, bright, burning like a fire that cries out for freedom and vengeance—”

“Zoria,” the Blonde interjected with a clearing of her throat. “Calm down, will you? You’re scaring him. The boy says he doesn’t know anything.”

“And he’s lying,” the Blue One hissed.

In her eyes shone strange little lights, as if she had a starry sky inside. Suddenly, I felt an energy groping at me, but her spell, whatever it was, bounced off and had no effect on me. The surprise on the Blue One’s face made me pout mockingly. I heard her gasp.

“Admit you’re lying,” she insisted. “I can tell by your expression. You know Dessari Wayam.”

I looked annoyed and was in the process of searching for a convincing answer when suddenly the door swung open, the swing of the door hit me, and, straining to dodge the Blue One, I nimbly slipped out just as the bearded man entered, saying cheerfully:

“Apple pie for our queens…! Hey! Stop right there, you rascal! Get him, Sarpas!”

The giant tried to grab me by the arm, but he was not quick enough. I escaped and ran down the hall before I noticed something. The pendant. I didn’t have it anymore. I suddenly turned around and shouted:

“Damn thieves! My pendant!”

The bearded man had given the apple pie to the redheaded caitian and with one hand he was swinging the necklace brazenly.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

I glared at him. What was pressing me and putting me in a bad mood was not so much the exasperation of being robbed, but rather the urgency of getting out of there and away from that Blue One. Maybe she was telling the truth, and this alchemist was her friend, but if they stole him, we’d be surely left without sokwata. And I wasn’t going to allow that. I wasn’t going to tell them anything until the gnome gave us a definitive cure. Life was worth a silver pendant.

Seeing the bearded man advancing down the hallway of the inn, I stepped back and threw:

“I swear I don’t know anything. But I can help you. I know the Cat Quarter. And I know people. I’ll be back here in a week,” I promised. “But now I’m leaving. I’ll leave you my necklace as proof of good faith: take care of it, it’s mine, and it brings me luck. I’m going,” I repeated.

Under the bearded man’s baffled gaze, I turned around and ran off without anyone chasing me. Maybe they weren’t such bad people after all. They had saved me from a very bad situation. And they hadn’t accused me of murder. They deserved some attention from me… But not now.

I was already at the end of the corridor when a tall matron appeared, and when she saw me, she looked appalled.

“But what are you doing here, little devil! Get out of here! Get out of here!”

To get out was precisely my intention, and I told her so, but the innkeeper’s grip helped me to achieve my purpose anyway. She took me down the stairs, dragged me to the backdoor, and after searching my pockets to see if I had stolen anything from her customers, she decided that there was no point in taking me to the police station and expelled me from her establishment. As soon as she dropped me in the alley, I regained my balance and shouted at her:

“You old hag!”

And seeing the murderous expression the matron showed me, I thought it prudent to make off at a run. I left the alley, and instead of going down the Avenue to the Cats, I decided to go to the Esplanade. It must have been after nine o’clock already, and my intuition told me that Manras and Dil would be there; Dil because he always followed Manras, and Manras because, according to Yerris, he had become a devotee of the teachings of Nat the Diver. And Nat the Diver loved to operate on the Esplanade.

I guessed right. After loitering for a while in the huge square, I saw the three of them standing in a circle by a doorway, talking with Swift and with… Syrdio. I glanced cautiously at the Galloper, then cried out:

“Ayo, company, ayo, shyurs!”

They turned to me, Swift smiled, and Manras let out a cry of joy.

“Sharpy!”

When I saw him literally throw himself on top of me, my heart filled with emotion, and I laughed as I heard him unpack everything he had done in the last three weeks:

“You don’t know what happened with the pretty baker! She gave us rolls with honey, just yesterday, for the holidays, and for free, the Patron Saint be blessed, I swear! And you don’t know! The other day, we went with Swift to see the monkeys at the Wild Garden. And then Venoms had one of her fits… The guard threw us all out, calling us boys… boys terror kids! Boy sterius? Yeah, well, something like that. Hey, Sharpy! Have you seen my new shirt?”

I took advantage of his torrent of words to greet Dil with the usual friendly pat on the head and I replied to all the stories with “Wow, good mother, is that true, shyur?”, interspersed with bursts of laughter and merry teasing. I had well noticed that Syrdio had gone away, and Swift merely patted me on the shoulder and said:

“I’m glad to see you on your feet, shyur. With such a good track record, there won’t be a self-respecting gwak who won’t shake your hand.”

I smiled at him and watched him walk away, realizing that although we got along well, he didn’t want me in his gang because he didn’t want trouble among his own people. I saw him join Syrdio, and I glanced at Diver with a questioning look. The latter had not moved, and he gave me an embarrassed pout.

“Listen, Sharpy, I wanted to tell you… If you tell me you didn’t snitch at the Black Cat for the sokwata, I believe you.”

I nodded and smiled.

“I didn’t snitch. I swear by the ancestors of all the supreme gwakery of Estergat.”

Nat the Diver smiled back at me and held out a hand. I shook it vigorously.

“You can’t complain,” he said. “I’ve sharpened the claws of your friends and enlarged their knowledge. Well, Manras’ at least. Dil… is a special case,” he pointed out. He poked Little Prince’s head, looking amused, and concluded: “I leave them healthy and educated. I’m more of a lone wolf. And… by the way, if the alchemist finds a cure… you’ll tell me, won’t you?”

I huffed.

“Natural! Don’t know how long it’ll take him… but I bet you ten nails he’ll find it.”

Diver was already backing away, and he chuckled.

“You’re not taking much of a risk, Sharpy! Ayo!”

I raised my hand, smiling, and saw him disappear behind a cart full of onions. A few moments later, I saw him on the steps of the Capitol, near Swift and Syrdio, chewing… an onion, I guessed.

“Why are they leaving?” Manras asked, confused.

I shrugged, shoved my hands into my pockets, and yawned.

“We gwaks come and go… That’s just the way it is. We’re leaving too. Come on, shyurs. Get moving. How about we go visit the Priest?”

“But he’s no longer at the Hospital,” Manras objected, following me.

I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the news.

“What?”

The little dark elf shrugged.

“Well, yes, that’s what the Black Cat told us. The Priest called a doctor a miscreant, and the doctor took exception; they kicked him out, and the Black Cat took him away.”

“Good mother,” I exhaled. “Do you know where the Black Cat is?”

He made a face to say he didn’t know, and I shook my head. Damn. Knowing the Priest, he’d probably called that doctor a miscreant without even thinking about it. He’d called me so dozens of times… but, of course, I was me, and a doctor was a doctor. I shook my head and smiled.

“Bah. Then let’s go to lunch.”

* * *

For the next three days I did not set foot in The Ballerinas. Instead, I went to the Hostel every afternoon. Despite my efforts to transcribe what I heard through the purple stone, my results were still disastrous. The only thing I could make out was that a man named Shokinori and a man named Yabir were looking for the Purple Orb, Korther’s relic, which they had lost many moons ago, and from what Korther had deduced from my translations, they were both in the Underground and traveling to the Surface with the intention of continuing to cast spells and getting closer to the Orb. The idea that they were looking for it seemed to intrigue and fascinate Korther more than it bothered him, I don’t know if because so much interest from these Undergrounders confirmed the “incalculable” value of the relic or for some other reason. In any case, I was getting bored with the whole thing, but I wasn’t complaining because I was earning my daily half-siato, and with that I’d already been able to buy a pair of trousers without holes and fill my pockets with nuts.

On the fourth night, the murmurs of the Undergrounders had become so muffled that, giving up trying to understand them, I had resumed reading the Theories on Infernal Creatures when I heard Shokinori say:

“With caution.”

I looked away from the book, and with a sigh, picked up the quill and translated. I looked up. Through the slits of the closed shutters I could see only darkness. Korther would not let me leave his office with the stone, so I stayed with him while he wrote letters, read, or chatted with Aberyl. At the moment, he was reading the newspaper of The Night Gazette.

“No, no, no!” Shokinori cried. I gasped, “The tracing, Yabir, the tracing is wrong!”

It was the first time I had heard them with such clarity, and I looked down at the Orb in confusion. It seemed they were casting another location spell.

“You’re going to break the bond, stop!” Shokinori growled.

I thought I was safe in my chair, but I was wrong: I felt a sudden jolt of energy. I gave a muffled cry and with a spasmodic movement threw the Orb across the room. The stone struck a pretty vase, which shattered with a crash on the floor. For a second, there was silence, and I did not move. Then I met Korther’s eyes and turned pale.

“Well done,” Korther said, folding the gazette without losing his temper. “Excellent, lad. You just destroyed a vase that cost me thirty-two siatos. Is there any particular reason?”

I nodded at once.

“Yes. The Orb went crazy. Shokinori started yelling that Yabir was going to break the bond and, bam—”

“And bam,” Korther interrupted, rising to his feet. “Goodbye vase.”

I guessed, despite his serene demeanour, that he was angry, and I lowered my eyes with a mortified look.

“I didn’t do it on purpose…”

Korther bent down, picked up the stone, and sighed as he looked at the broken vase.

“This is irreparable. Pick it up and throw it away.”

I stood up; he sat down while examining the Orb; and after putting all the pieces of the vase in my shirt, I looked at the kap, hesitated, and said:

“I’m sorry, Korther.”

The kap sighed.

“And I even more so. At least the Orb still works. You better warn me when you see those two getting closer to Estergat. Go on, scram and come back tomorrow.”

I could forget the fifty nails that day, I understood. I nodded and was about to let go of my shirt with one hand to open the door when it opened with a bang and hit me; I nearly knocked over a silver figurine, held it back as best I could, and all the pieces of vase fell back onto the carpet. Blasthell.

“Oh,” Aberyl said, puzzled, as he entered. “Sorry for that. What happened?”

With a sigh, I bent down and promptly picked up everything again. Korther answered calmly:

“The boy decided to tear down my house. What’s going on, Ab?”

Aberyl shook his head and moved forward, dropping a letter on the table.

“A letter from Frashluc,” he declared.

I saw the reptilian eyes of the Black Dagger kap sparkle. And I saw them immediately turn to me. I winced, understood the implied suggestion, and hurriedly picked up the last piece of the vase before standing up, muttering an almost inaudible “ayo,” and walking away as quiet as a shadow.

Once at the front door, I positioned the latch so that it would close by itself and quickly walked away into the darkness of the night. When I took the street that led down to the Timid River, I intended to throw all the debris into the river of Estergat, but the further I went the more I thought that if the vase had cost Korther thirty-two siatos, it must still have some value even in this form. After a little hesitation, I left the river street and entered the Labyrinth. I passed by The Drawer, but I just glanced to see if Yarras was there, and, so to speak, I said “ayo, ayo,” and left. I went to The Blue Flame. I’d never been in a public house before, and what I saw impressed me a little: the walls were covered with tapestries, and the tables and counter were crowded with people. However, the atmosphere was different from that of The Drawer. When I recognized Lotto the Tinker sitting at a table, I zigzagged between the beautiful ladies to reach him.

“Lotto! Say, is Yarras around?”

The little man arched his eyebrows and lowered his tankard.

“Ah, Bard. Yes, I think he’s upstairs. What are you carrying there?”

I shrugged.

“Something I want to show him.”

And before he could ask me any more questions, I took the direction indicated and climbed the stairs without anyone stopping me. Twice I glanced into the wrong room before I heard Yarras’ voice through a half-open door:

“… poppet,” he said. “Because, truthfully, if you intend to move that pawn, you’ve lost the game.”

“Shut up, I can’t concentrate,” a female voice replied in an absorbed tone.

After so many hours of eavesdropping on Shokinori and Yabir’s conversations, I had a particular aversion to spying, so I knocked on the door and poked my head in. I found the robust, red-haired fellow and a pretty woman sitting on either side of a table, a checkerboard of maog before them.

“Demons,” Yarras articulated, surprised. “Bard? What are you doing here? Hold on a second, I’m coming.” And he added, “Sorry, poppet, I meant to warn you, but…” He moved a piece. “You lose.”

He casually rose to his feet and, throwing a mocking apologetic look at his defeated opponent, walked out, and closed the door.

“What’s the matter, boy?”

I explained things to him by showing him the pieces of the vase:

“I was wondering if this thing was worth anything.”

Yarras arched an eyebrow, took a piece, and looked amused.

“Well, well. Looks like Vargyl china. I don’t suppose I can ask you where you got it from… or why it’s in such a state.”

I bit my lip; he gave me back the piece and shook his head.

“Twenty nails is all I can offer you.”

I shrugged. It was better than nothing.

“It runs.”

He led me to a small, cluttered room at the end of the corridor, and made me put all the pieces of china into a box then gave me the twenty nails.

“Thank you, Yarras,” I said with a smile.

He smiled back at me.

“It never hurts to help a gwak. They say it brings good luck. Oh, by the way…” He hesitated theatrically. “You know about what happened a few days ago on the Wheel Road? They found a dead man.”

The tension washed over me. I arched my eyebrows, feigning surprise.

“Thunders. Really?”

“Yes. Apparently, from what some people are saying, he was one of the Black Hawk’s bastards. He died of a falsin overdose. You didn’t know about that, did you?”

I shook my head several times.

“No, I didn’t.”

Yarras looked at me mockingly.

“The flies also found a cap that had a hole in the visor.”

I turned pale. Damn. And here I thought I’d left it at The Ballerinas… But it was no surprise that the five strangers who’d rescued me hadn’t thought to erase the evidence that could incriminate me. Yarras rolled his eyes and ruffled my hair.

“I think I’ve got a cap lying around here. Wait a moment, I’ll search for it, it runs?”

I looked at him carefully, and Yarras chuckled.

“Relax, gwak! If I had been in your shoes, I would have been less delicate.”

He began to rummage through the clutter and finally pulled out a really old cap.

“Will that do?” Yarras asked.

He didn’t wait for my answer and put it on my head before leading me out of the room. I huffed.

“Thank you, Yarras.”

“It’s only natural: a gwak without a cap is not a gwak as it should be.”

I was not only referring to that, but I knew that Yarras had understood. I took out the twenty nails again, and he raised his hands.

“No way, keep it.”

“No. It’s only fair, for the cap,” I insisted, handing him the coins.

Yarras looked at me questioningly.

“You don’t want to pay for the services of one of my cute cousins by any chance?”

My eyes widened at the thought.

“No, no,” I hastened to refuse. “I—”

“It runs!” Yarras laughed, mockingly. “So… maybe a game of old-nails? You’ve got money to bet on.”

I rolled my eyes, huffed, and the ruffian smiled.

“Runs for you?”

I nodded, cheerfully.

“Well, well, yes, runs for me!”

Two hours later, I left the public house with a debt of thirty-six nails and with the certainty that I still had a lot to learn to play old-nails well and that I should not rely on luck.

Tired after a long day of selling newspapers, wandering the streets, spying on magarists, and getting into debt with ruffians, I decided it was time to return to Wool Square. It was already past midnight, but in the square there were still eyes open. I wandered cautiously among the sleeping gwaks, found Manras and Dil, and lay down beside them with a yawn. I pricked up my ear. There were murmurs from the awake gwaks; one band was chatting quietly, sitting by the central well; at the entrance to a street, I saw one gwak busy demanding some debt from another. I looked away to the sky. The stars were twinkling with unusual sharpness. I put my hand to a pendant which I did not have, and whispered:

“Good night, Elassar.”

My master answered me gently:

“Good night, Mor-eldal.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes as I heard it. Ever since Warok’s death, I don’t know why, harmonies had been playing tricks on me from time to time. It wasn’t too bad as long as the little problem didn’t get worse. And there was no reason to think it would get worse, was there?

I sighed, tried to find a comfortable position, and as soon as I closed my eyes, I fell asleep placidly.

5 A bard in a net of flies

I awoke to a familiar melody. I half opened my eyes, yawned, and sat up suddenly.

“You’ve found your harmonica!” I said, excitedly.

Yerris sat cross-legged in front of us, blowing on his instrument. He gave me a cheerful look but did not interrupt his melody, and I smiled as I listened. He was playing the Melody of the Meadow. In the old days, when I had trouble waking up in the morning at the Den, he used to play it for me to cheer me up. I glanced at my comrades. Manras was already rubbing his eyes, but Dil was still sound asleep. I shook his shoulder, and Little Prince covered his face with a restive grunt. Then the Black Cat stopped playing and observed:

“It’s not the same one, I bought it. Can’t you see it’s different?”

He showed it to me, without letting me take it, and I agreed:

“Ah, right.”

The Black Cat put the instrument away and looked around. I did the same. The square was already bustling with the Cats coming out of their homes to fill their buckets with water from the central well. Half the gwaks had already disappeared. The others were lazing around, waiting for their turn to drink from the well or continuing to sleep.

Getting up, Yerris motioned for me to follow him, and leaving Manras to pull Dil’s ears, I walked away. The Black Cat stopped a few feet away and said:

“I came to say goodbye.”

I blinked.

“What? Where are you going?”

“Korther,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And, in a way, that explained everything: the time had simply come for Yerris to start paying for his betrayal.

“Well,” I nodded. “Then you’re leaving Estergat.”

“Yep. I told Sla to keep an eye on you, just in case. I’d better not find you at the bottom of a well or something when I get back,” Yerris scoffed. “Ah, by the way, I guess Manras told you, the Priest is out now. But I haven’t seen him for three days. I gave him the sokwata, and he left. You’ll meet him for sure one of these days. Hey, when I told him that you took care of him the first few weeks, I heard him say, ‘Blessed soul!’ And I don’t know what else. I think he sees you as a kindred spirit. Know what? All in all, I think he’s a good guy. If I were you, I’d follow in his footsteps. Given the way his prayers and spiritual songs are getting you all excited…”

I huffed and gave him a shove. He laughed.

“Well, well. How are you doing?”

“Wind in the sails,” I affirmed. “So, are you leaving Estergat for long?”

“A few weeks, I don’t know. I’m going with Al.” He gave a half-afflicted, half-smiling pout and confessed, “It’s going to be hell. Every time he looks at me, it’s like he’s shooting destructive lightning bolts at me. Makes you wonder if I shouldn’t watch my back, you know?”

I shivered.

“Gosh,” I sympathized. “But Alvon couldn’t hurt you, could he?”

Yerris smiled.

“Bah, he keeps calling me ‘sari’ regardless. Don’t worry about Al, I know him well. That’s why I say the trip is going to be hell,” he added thoughtfully, and exclaimed, “But hey! I’ll survive. I’ve also come to give you the candy of death. It’s been more than ten days since you’ve had any, I think. Next time, you’ll have to go get them from the alchemist. Here, take them.”

He handed me three black pills.

“Well, thank you!” I said.

I put the sokwata in my mouth, walked away to give it to Dil and Manras, and when I turned and looked for the Black Cat, I couldn’t find him. Damn. Where…? No, he was gone from the square. I sighed in exasperation. I wanted to tell him about the twins who were looking for the alchemist, to ask his advice more than anything else, but… Nothing, the Black Cat was doing whatever he wanted, and he obviously didn’t like goodbyes.

“Ayo and good luck,” I murmured. And I turned back to Manras and Dil. “Onward, shyurs! Today we have to work, I don’t have a nail!”

We walked out of Wool Square, left the Cat Quarter, and went up Tarmil Avenue to the Esplanade. Since I knew that I was not going to pay my debt to Yarras by selling newspapers, I decided to suspend my work as a newsboy that day and, at Manras’ insistence, agreed to let him assist me in a more efficient fund-raising effort. We did quite well. By noon, I had collected a wallet, he had collected a good number of nails, and Dil had saved us from running into a guard.

“Croonies: that’s what you call teamwork,” I said with a big grin.

We served ourselves like kings in a tavern on Imperial Avenue, and while we ate, we pondered in hushed tones over a possible hiding place for our winnings. For the first time in my life, I saw myself with more money than I could reasonably spend in a day. After listening to Manras’ suggestion that we should hide them underground, as did a guy called Digger—a gwak and thief of some repute—I shook my head and said:

“That’s it, I know. I’ve got a great idea.”

I did not say anything more. I had decided to hide everything in the Crypt, in a tree close to the one with big branches that had sheltered us. Okay, it was a bit far away, but that was the point: it would be unlikely that anyone would go there to look for coins in a tree in the middle of a wood. Nobody would steal them from us.

Satisfied with my initiative, I got up from the table and walked out of the tavern with a determined step.

“Sharpy!” Manras called, running up behind me. “What’s that great idea?”

I turned to my comrades and was about to reply that curiosity killed the cat, when suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the carriage of an omnibus speeding down the hill. It was coming straight for us. Fortunately, I reacted quickly. I threw myself to one side, pulled Manras, he lost his balance, and we both fell heavily on the cobblestones just as the horses passed. The most incredible thing was that the coachman did not even turn his head or pull on the reins. Manras, on the other hand, began to cry loudly, holding his arm. Good mother… Good mother, he had broken something, for sure!

If I had even a bit of a fiery temper, I had it all out at that moment with all my heart. I stood up and shouted:

“YOU SAVAGE!”

But the coachman ignored me superbly; he went on down the Avenue as if he had not been about to commit two murders.

“That bastard!” I bellowed.

Being a gwak, I should have been used to being ignored, but this was beyond the pale. I picked up a stone and drew alarmed looks from passers-by as I sped off behind the omnibus. I threw the stone at the coachman. I missed, and the stone hit one of the windows, which shattered. I caught up with the omnibus, and seeing that the passengers were looking at me with wide eyes, I shouted:

“Nail-pinching murderer!”

The coachman stopped the omnibus and tried to poke me with his stick, vociferating incredulously:

“You devil! You broke my window! Guards!”

If I had had a shred of lucidity at that moment, I would have run away. But I was more than excited: I was enraged. And I snarled:

“You hurt my friend! May your body burn in hell! Worm! Scum! Murderer! You demorjed!”

The coachman tried to silence me with a blow from his boot. Without dodging, I grabbed the boot and hung on to it to pull it away from that isturbagged man. I received a blow on my back with a stick, but I did not let go of the boot and finally took it off him. Then I felt someone grab me by the arm and pull me back. It was Manras.

“Sharpy!” he said in an anxious voice. “Sharpy, what are you doing?”

With my boot in my hands, I looked at him for a few seconds without understanding. Then my mind cleared, I saw Little Prince a few yards away looking at us, alarmed, and a little further on, I saw the guard approaching at a run while the coachman was already bending over to grab me by the neck. Good Mother…

“Run!” I shouted.

I dropped the boot, and without the passers-by blocking our way, we zigzagged between them and entered a crowded street of taverns. I took Manras by the sleeve to get his attention.

“Empty your pockets. Right now!”

We were not in the best of quarters to escape from the guard. As discreetly as I could, I got rid of everything that didn’t belong to me. When I threw away the wallet, I could hardly suppress a pout of disappointment, but what could I do? As soon as I was free of other people’s possessions, I went to Manras and whispered to him:

“How’s your arm?”

As he shrugged, as if to say not very well, I took a quick look at it and saw that he had scraped his whole elbow to the bone, but other than that, it was nothing serious.

“Well, it will heal in a peace-and-virtue,” I assured. “Wash it down with water. I’ll meet you in the Wool Square, it runs?”

“Well,” Manras agreed, and he added with an amused snort, “You gave that coachman a hell of a scolding—Ayo!”

He left, and reflecting on his last words, I thought that the scolding, be it exaggerated or not, had been legitimate and well deserved. I was walking between the tables, trying to move as quickly and quietly as possible to leave the area, when I heard shouting behind me. And more shouting ahead. And passers-by saying:

“What’s up? The guard! What’s going on?”

“A kid! They’re looking for a kid,” other people explained.

Then I met the eyes of an elf sitting on a chair outside. I saw that he was pointing at me to one of his companions, and I was afraid. I jumped up like a hare and began to run and push people to get away. This was not a good idea on my part. Immediately there were shouts, some pointed at me and said, “It’s him, it’s him!” And others repeated, “What’s going on?” And most looked around, moderately interested in the confusion. Then a hand sprang up from nowhere and grabbed me by the arm. I struggled. I saw that my attacker was a big, burly guard. I screamed as he bent my arm behind my back and another hand grabbed me by the neck.

“No more games, rascal,” the guard growled.

I saw three more guards appear in the crowd. They glanced at me, exchanged glances, and a bald elf said:

“His face is familiar to me as if he were my son… Devils, I know, he’s a newsboy wandering the Esplanade, isn’t he?”

He received confirmation from another guard whose face was also familiar to me: I knew them all by sight. Under the bald man’s gaze, I made a grimace of displeasure, and he said:

“So? Having fun throwing rocks at people, rascal?” He grabbed me by the hair to force me to look up. “You’re gonna spend some time in the cage, I’m telling you, and not just one night, believe me. On your way and no tricks.”

They dragged me out of the crowded street. At first, I didn’t make it easy for them, but then they started to beat me, and I became a little more compliant. They took me to the central police station near the Esplanade. I had been there before to sell newspapers, though I usually avoided the place. The room had several desks, benches with people waiting to be received and, on the right, a small jail with three benches behind bars. Every time I had entered, I had found the cell occupied and that day was no exception; however, it could have been much worse: there were only six people inside.

One of the guards searched me and removed the sharp stone before handing me back the cap and pushing me into the cell without a word. I readjusted my cap and looked at my new company. Three of them were dressed as miners and from what I had heard and from their grim faces I guessed that they were among those who had been involved in the protests for their rights just that morning. On the back bench, there were two guys who looked as if they had adopted the cell as their second home, if not their primary one; and so did the curvaceous lady on the left bench. I sat down at the other end of the latter’s bench and said courteously:

“Ayo.”

The miners did not answer me, the lady merely glanced at me indifferently, but the two men on the back bench made a vague gesture of greeting, and one of them even gave me a slight smile of welcome. I leaned back against the wall with my arms crossed, glanced through the bars at the officials bustling about the room, and suddenly I felt something under my shirt. Oh-blast-hell, I muttered to myself. It seemed to be a bill. It must have slipped out when I threw the wallet away. Luckily, the guard hadn’t found it. No honest gwak had any paper money in his possession. That was nail-pincher money.

I looked around, pretending to be calm. I almost started whistling an innocent tune. Casually, I crouched down to avoid the others seeing the movement of my hand, took out the paper and confirmed: it was a bill. A one-siato bill. It was the first time I had ever seen one, and I regretted the circumstances, for if they had been different, I would have taken the opportunity to look at the design on either side and all that, but the sooner I got rid of the note the better.

Very quietly, I put it in my pocket and broke it into small pieces. When they were small enough I took them out in my fist and stuffed them into my mouth. One of the miners looked up at me and frowned, as if he could not guess what I was chewing. I was already swallowing the last of the little pieces of paper left when one of them slipped out of my mouth. Quick as an arrow, I picked it up off the floor and, under the mocking and complicit glances of the two guys on the back bench, I swallowed it. And that’s it: goodbye problem. Yes, at that moment, the saying “a siato in the hand keeps your hunger away”, seemed to me to be completely false. The bill had left me with a bitter taste.

I was still digesting the fright of that bill when one of the flies approached the bars with a notebook and pencil.

“You, kid. What’s your name?”

Glad to be paid attention to, I jumped to my feet and answered cheerfully:

“Me? It’s Draen, sir. Like all my namesakes.”

I clung to the bars while the fly wrote.

“Family name?”

The question surprised me. Damn. Yal had once suggested some family names, but at the time, I couldn’t remember any of them… The fly became impatient.

“Boy: I asked you your family name.”

Wanting to please him, I threw out the first one that came to mind:

“Hilemplert.”

I have no idea where I got that name. I must have read it in some newspaper not long ago or… Then I remembered. I hadn’t read it in the paper, but I had heard it spoken by Shokinori and Yabir. And I remembered that Korther had told me it was the name of an underground city. The fly arched an eyebrow and scribbled something in his notebook.

“Date of birth?”

I glanced around at my cellmates, caught the faded look in one of the miners’ eyes, and pouted before replying:

“Four thousand five hundred and nine. I guess.”

The fly shook his head as he wrote.

“Day and moon of birth?”

I sighed.

“Blasthell, I don’t know. Someone once told me while looking at the stars that I was born in the spring.” I heard one of the two guys on the back bench chuckle softly and turned to him with a comical pout. “It’s true,” I assured him.

“Names of your parents?” the scribe continued.

The weary look I gave him was enough of an answer.

“Have you no guardian?” I hesitated, and he resumed, “Let me inform you, boy, that if you have no guardian and are unable to account for your means of support, the law will classify you as a vagrant and you will be sent to Carnation Prison regardless of your misdeeds, which can only lengthen your sentence. So… cooperate and speak clearly. Do you or do you not have a guardian? A relative? Someone we can notify that you are here?”

The thought of being imprisoned made me cringe for several reasons. First, at Carnation, there was no sokwata. Second, my friends would not be there. And third, Korther was going to hang me by the ears if I stopped going to translate Shokinori and Yabir’s words to him. So, yeah, this was really not the time to be at Carnation. That’s why I protested vigorously:

“I work, sir. I’m not a vagrant.”

Those on the back bench laughed quietly and skeptically, but I did not lose my composure.

“What is your occupation?” the fly inquired.

“Newspaper salesman for the Senshi Press,” I replied in a serious tone.

“I see. And you make a living at it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer looked me up and down.

“Good. For now, that will be all.”

He nodded briefly, turned his back to me, and walked away. I bit my cheek and stood by the bars for a long moment before returning to my seat.

The more time passed, the more I realized that the flies were probably not going to let me go that day and that meant that Korther was going to wait for me in vain—and that he was going to hang me by the ears as soon as he got his hands on me.

There was a lot of movement throughout the afternoon. They let the two guys on the back bench go, but they brought more company. First, a bunch of rowdy drunks came in, then a young man in his twenties came and sat next to me, he was very nervous and kept calling an officer so that, “please sir”, they let his parents know. At about six o’clock, the father came to fetch him, and soon afterwards two other gentlemen honoured us with their visit. There was no more room on the benches, and one of the men, as soon as he entered, made an authoritative gesture to me.

“Get up, little ruffian, give me some room.”

I gave him a mocking smile.

“Sure, right away, sir ruffian.”

He didn’t beat about the bush. He lifted me by force and pushed me aside, saying:

“Learn to respect your elders, rascal.”

“Isturbag,” I muttered.

“What did you say?”

I didn’t answer, sealed my lips, turned my back on him, and clutched the bars in silence. Sometimes swallowing one’s pride was the most prudent thing to do.

Soon after, I saw three gwaks of the Cats enter. We knew each other by sight and said “ayo” to each other, but nothing more. Time passed. The brawlers were talking about some card game, replaying their moves and laughing out loud. My fellow gwaks were muttering to each other, the courtesan was filing her nails, the seat-stealer was commenting with his companion on an article in The Night Gazette, bought from a boy who had appeared there in search of customers. At about eleven o’clock in the evening, I was rhythmically running my hand from bar to bar, bored to death. Back and forth. Back and forth. Finally, I began to sing:

To La-Bali,
To La-Bali,
I want to go to La-Bali.
The party is going to start,
and I want to go out!

Seeing that all eyes had turned to me, I became bolder and followed up with a heartbreaking:

Oh, dear Mom, they put me in jaiiil!
’Cause I’m a scamp with no nail!
And a scamp I am all right,
that’s why I’m being quodded,
and I can’t escape for life.

Larilon, lariliew,
Rascal of Karateliew.

My musical outburst had generated amused gasps and bursts of surprised laughter from both sides of the gate. One of the flies quickly approached and exclaimed as I sang:

“Oi, boy, stop! This isn’t a theatre: this is a police station. So you’ll shut up at once.”

But I continued:

Oh, sweetheart, oh, my friend,
I remember you so pretty.
But don’t wait for me, no more, my love.
I’ll never leave this time.
Such a lovely home they gave me, my dearest!
I’ll go out with a wooden habeas!

Larilon, lariliew,
Rascal of Karateliew.

As I sang, I saw the fly exchange a look with another and pass his hand before muttering:

“Mothers of the Light…”

He got serious again, and again he imposed silence on me. And I turned a deaf ear, of course. If I didn’t listen to my nakrus master when he told me to be quiet, I wasn’t going to listen to a fly. I bellowed:

Nobody goes out of my home,
Four sides and three walls only,
but hard stems grow on the fourth,
that won’t bend no matter how hard you hit them.

I kicked a bar. And I continued:

Larilon, lariliew,
Rascal of Karateliew.

When they let me starve,
they say I’m a glutton,
that there’s no worse lout
than the one who pigs out.

Dandindar, dandinder,
here comes the undertaker!

I ended the song on a heart-rending note, and several of the guests in the cell began to applaud. The three gwaks were the most elated.

“Good mother, you’re a champion, shyur!” one of them laughed out loud.

“Another one, another one!” an old beggar shouted.

“No way, enough of that, now shut up!” the fly warned.

“Sing us the Kartikada! Sing us the Kartikada!” another of the gwaks interjected enthusiastically.

I smiled broadly and, under the fly’s warning gaze, spun around briefly to see my entire audience, straightened up, and bellowed:

I go siiiinging through the fields.
Through Arkolda I go singing.
I go alone with the world,
singing, my heart full of love.
Life is so beautiful!
This jewel that sometimes cries,
sometimes cries,
and sometimes laughs with delight.
You made me happy, life.
You made me happy,
oh life, Gem, Moon, Candle, star,
you made me fall in love with the world
and you left me with a smile,
tender as a flower,
brave as a dragon.
I go siiiinging through the fields.
Through Arkolda I go singing.
Plenty of dreams on my shoulders,
I fulfill them with my songs.
Oh Arkoldian comrade…!

“Holy Spirits, he got mad!” I exclaimed.

The policeman had called a companion who had two dogs on a leash, and they went in. Everyone in the cell burst out laughing, and I was not the last, for the exclamation had escaped me spontaneously. However, as the dogs approached, my legs faltered, I panicked and cowered at the back of the cell.

“Brave as a dragon, he says,” the fly scoffed. “Come on, kid, get up.”

I stood up, looking at the two dogs. And the fly gagged me.

“It’s much better this way,” he appreciated. “You won’t go hoarse now. You can fulfill your dreams when you get out. If you take off the gag, I’ll cuff you, got it?”

I thought of humming, but that would have been the last straw. So I nodded and looked obedient. The fly rolled his eyes, walked out, and I sighed with relief as I saw the other policeman leave with the two dogs. I huddled against the wall. In the cell, some people were still commenting on my bardic outburst.

6 My first prayer at Carnation

The next morning, there were about fifteen of us in the cell. The night had been eventful, and I had spent it gagged, curled up in a corner, unable to sleep. In the middle of the morning, they released the three gwaks, who said “ayo” to me, and I replied with a silent gesture. I was as thirsty as a thousand demons. I approached the bars and looked at a fly with a sad face. It took perhaps half an hour for him to pay attention to me.

“What’s the matter with you, kid?” he inquired.

“I think he’s asking permission to remove the gag,” one of the other flies interjected, sitting at a table. “It was the gwak that started singing last night.”

It took the guard several more minutes before he gave in.

“You’re not going to start singing, are you?” I shook my head. He scratched his chin and walked over to the jail and said, “It’s okay, turn around and I’ll untie the knot.” He took the gag off me through the bars and asked, “What do you want?”

“Water,” I answered at once.

I was given a glass, and as a reward, I did not speak a word for the rest of the morning. It was about noon that I saw two familiar faces at the police station. They were Dil and Manras. I smiled broadly. They came in with their newspapers, Dil sold one to a fly, Manras two more to those in the cell, and as I clutched at the bars the little dark elf came up and whispered to me:

“Sharpy, this morning Sla came to talk to us in the square. She wants us to tell you that, if you have to pay a fine, Yal will pay it, but that it’s possible they’ll lock you up anyway because what you did is not right.”

“Sla says you’re the same as her mother,” Little Prince interjected.

I grimaced.

“Gosh. But it was the other cove that almost killed us! May the devils take these isturbags…”

I caught a glimpse of the guardian fly, and, fearing that he would say something to Manras and Dil and throw them out, I hastened to say in a low voice:

“Listen, shyurs. Do me a favor. Go to The Ballerinas and look for two people staying there named Zoria and Zalen. Tell them I’m not going to be able to go get my pendant back because I might be well incarnationed today. It’s important. Ah,” I added as they both nodded, very attentive. “If they ask you questions, you don’t answer anything, understand? These people are snoopers. You only say: ‘Draen can’t go get the pendant back because he got pinched’. And you leg it, it runs?”

“It runs, Sharpy,” Dil assured. “Look, Sla also told us to give you… this.”

He handed me a newspaper. And from his expression, which was as readable as an open book, I guessed what was inside without even looking. Sokwata. Or karuja. Apparently, Sla didn’t think the flies were going to let me go just after a few days. I huffed, holding back my nervousness.

“Well, tell him thank you and… Hook it. The flies are watching you strangely,” I said. As I saw them hesitating and looking at me, I smiled at them. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Take care of yourself and don’t do anything stupid. Thanks for the copy, so I won’t die of boredom!”

They left. I opened the newspaper carefully and found the three sokwata pills. Discreetly, I put them in my pocket. And I didn’t open my mouth again all afternoon. It was not until the following night that a fly came and took me out of the cell. He locked me in an empty room with other flies. One of them took out a leaf of smograss from a small box, put it in his mouth, began to chew and accepted the paper handed to him by a companion before saying in a calm voice:

“Draen Hilemplert. Two days ago you attacked the coachman of an omnibus, insulted him, tore off a boot and threw a stone, breaking the window of his vehicle. A lady who was inside filed a complaint for assault. We received a note from the judge. He considered that, although the assault did not cause any injury, your actions were improper and violent and he imposed a sentence of fifty days’ imprisonment in the Carnation House of Correction, three moons on probation, and a fine of ten siatos for public disorder, antisocial behaviour, et cetera, et cetera. Anything to complain about?”

There was silence. I was still processing the punishment. The fly nodded as he folded the paper.

“So you’ll serve your sentence and you’ll have three moons to pay the fine… and you’ll have to justify how you got the money, of course.” He paused, chewed on his paper, and resumed, “You do understand your punishment, don’t you?”

I nodded, and he insisted:

“Then explain to me, why are we putting you in jail?”

“Because what I did was wrong,” I said, though inwardly I wasn’t so sure of that.

The fly continued to chew his smograss leaf and nodded:

“Good. I’m glad you understand. I hope the House of Correction will teach you to control your impulses and become a good citizen. Take him away.”

I breathed in, and when I felt a hand grasp my shoulder, I followed my guide without resistance, wondering what would happen if Shokinori and Yabir appeared at the Hostel and could not communicate with anyone. I sighed, almost feeling guilty about the whole thing. There was no doubt in my mind that Korther was going to wring my ears off as soon as I got out of Carnation.

Although the prison was relatively close, near Tarmil Avenue, they used a police vehicle to take me there. Once there, they gave me a simple bracelet with the number four hundred on it, shaved my head, barely leaving any hair, and an official proceeded to draw up my prisoner card: he measured me, wrote on a form, and, as if my bad luck were not already as great as a temple, as the guards were about to take me to my cell, they had the idea of searching me. The only way to hide the sokwata pills would have been to stuff them in my mouth, and perhaps that would not have worked. In any case, they took them away from me, mistaking them for karuja, because that’s what they looked like. I protested, “Hey, blasthell, that’s mine”, they didn’t listen to me, I told them it wasn’t karuja, they laughed at me. Then I called them thieves, I got angry, one of them took me by the neck, they shook me and, despite my protests which turned into pleas and heart-rending cries, they held firm, they did not give me back what was mine, and they pushed me out of the room. My mood was even darker than the corridors through which they led me to my cell; for, now, how was I supposed to survive without sokwata…

A guard opened the cell. I went inside and heard the gate close before I even turned around.

“Come on, don’t look like that, in a few days you’ll get used to it,” the guard said.

And he left me alone. Well, no, I was not alone, to say the least. In the cell, there were one, two, three, seven other people, I counted. And there were six beds, three downstairs, three upstairs. A kid about the age of my comrades was lying flat on the floor, sucking his bloody fingers and looking up at me curiously. The others were all adults. Four of them were playing cards.

“Do you think our young companion will deign to greet us?” a brown-haired human said in a casual tone.

I rolled my eyes and said:

“Ayo.”

He smirked at me as he examined me.

“Ayo. It’s your first time in here, isn’t it? Let me introduce myself: I am two hundred and three, nicknamed Le Bor. Ten moons in the inn for throwing a few too many words at a highborn noble. And you?”

I looked around the small cell again before answering:

“I’m Draen. Four hundred,” I added, glancing at my bracelet. And I shrugged. “I got fifty days. They say I’m antisocial.”

Le Bor’s smile widened.

“Really? And, in fifty days, we have to make you a social citizen, right? Mm. We’ll see what we can do. Welcome home, kid.”

Others also welcomed me, asked me what I had done to deserve the title of antisocial, and I told them what had happened. I generated a good deal of laughter as I told them of all the trouble I had taken in removing the coachman’s boot, and seeing clearly that my presence was more than welcome, I grew bolder and asked them about themselves. A moment later, I already knew more or less what sort of company I was going to have. The two who were not playing cards were Pockmark, a journalist who had left cartoons in the wrong place, and the Heretic, who, as his nickname indicated, was an innocent defamer of the Daglat. Those who played cards with Le Bor were three: the Raiwanese, a huge elf, friend of Le Bor, who didn’t say a word; Cuckoo, a trickster and street hustler; and Crooked Foot, who proudly called himself a “free trader,” which, to his misfortune, was synonymous with smuggler in the eyes of the Arkoldian justice system. As for the kid, a certain Farigo, I learned his story when, at nine o’clock in the evening, at lights-out, I lay down beside him and asked:

“What about you, shyur? Where are you from?”

The boy looked alarmed and put a forefinger to his lips. I knew why when I saw the jailer pass into the corridor with his lantern. When darkness returned, Farigo whispered back to me:

“My family’s from the Black Quarter. I got caught stealing three weeks ago. I’ve still got thirteen… no, fourteen weeks left,” he said.

He was keeping track of them, huh. Out of curiosity, I calculated how many weeks I had left and counted eight.

“Gosh. And what did you prig?” I inquired.

Farigo sighed.

“Forks.” I arched an eyebrow in the dark, and he added, “And spoons.”

“Thunders. Well, it’s bad luck you got pinched by the flies. So, you have a family?”

I felt more than I saw Farigo being reserved.

“Yes, I do,” he said after a silence. “But… my mother doesn’t want me any more. She told me I’m not coming home anymore when I go out, that I’m a disgrace to the family, and that if any of my siblings starve, it’ll be my fault, because I’m lazing around here instead of working at the mill.” He paused, and I tried to put myself in his place to imagine how he must feel. Mortified, abandoned, perhaps. He surprised me when he admitted quietly, “I did something wrong. And I have to pay.”

I saw him rest his forehead on his crossed arms, and I bit my lip.

“Oh, you are already paying for it,” I said. And I added: “Don’t worry. The guys you stole the forks from are nail-pinchers. They could always eat with their fingers, like any good gwak.” I smiled. “Good night, shyur.”

He answered me in a whisper, I assumed the most comfortable position possible, and after listening for a long time to the quiet breaths of my companions and the silence of the prison, I sank into the first rather deep sleep since the flies had got hold of me.

* * *

The next day was Sacredday and a day of rest. So, after giving us a bowl of clear soup, the guards sent us to the chapel to pray and listen to the priest for an hour. The priest welcomed those who had entered Carnation that week, and gave each of us a candle to light with the large candle and carry around the chapel to the entrance. I was following the procession with my candle and with the face of one who thinks “devils, but what am I doing here,” when, suddenly, taking advantage of the fact that no one was looking, Le Bor blew out loudly, with his lips skewed, and my candle went out. I hissed through my teeth and my lips uttered a silent:

“You son of a rat.”

Le Bor, however, was looking at his fingernails absently. I sighed, and remembering that Rogan had told me some of the bullying he’d been subjected to in the first few days in prison, I thought that this was pretty innocent by comparison, and decided to take it philosophically.

In order not to return to the large candle, I used the flame of the boy I had just behind me to light my candle. Immediately, the priest was scandalized:

“Patron Saint, what do I see! We don’t mix the ancestral flames! Come here, boy. Turn back and ask forgiveness at the altar, if you don’t want to be cursed for your fault.”

Under the mocking, amused, or indifferent gazes of the prisoners, I returned to the altar with a frightened look on my face. And what exactly was I to say? I looked at the great candle, and then at the stone altar with the great Daglat star engraved on it, and I swallowed.

“I’m sorry.”

The priest looked really embarrassed.

“So am I, my son. Don’t you know the prayer of forgiveness?”

“The… prayer of forgiveness,” I repeated, apprehensively, and then I had an epiphany. Rogan had taught me the prayer! I smiled. “Yes, of course I know it! It goes like this: ancestors, forgive those sinners who don’t even give alms to the poor, Patron Saint Spirit! Forgive the souls of the nail-pinchers, may their suffering in hell be light, and on the day they pop off, may the Spirits forgive their stinginess and welcome them to the… to the most comfortable hells of-of… er…”

I fell silent at the astounded expression of the priest. I looked around nervously. In the chapel, there was muffled laughter. Le Bor held his lips tightly together and was as red as the flesh of a watermelon. Blasthell. What on earth had I said? I blushed in my turn, but out of shame, and stammered:

“Sorry, sir. I got the wrong prayer.”

I hesitated, and was about to add a “didn’t I?”, but there was no time, for Le Bor burst out laughing with a low baritone guffaw which echoed throughout the chapel, and the chuckles of the prisoners turned to a roar of laughter. With effort the guards managed to quell the general mirth, and the priest cleared his throat.

“Please light the candle again. With the guards’ permission, I will keep this young boy for another hour. I think he needs it.”

To my dismay, I heard the assent of one of the guards. I sighed, lit my candle, and again went through the ranks of the prisoners with it, being careful not to pass near Le Bor.

When the prayers ended, the priest took care of me. He took me to bathe my head with holy oil and gave me lessons to prevent my soul from turning into an evil spirit when I died. I thanked him, promised him that from that day on I would pray to the Spirits every night, and was sent back to my cell. For hours Le Bor kept asking me to recite the prayers which Rogan had taught me. The whole corridor, including the jailers, listened to me and relayed my words to their neighbors. Oddly enough, the only one who did not seem to be at all amused by the story was the Heretic, who knows why. In any case, Le Bor was having a great time and even rewarded me with a cigar. From what he said, and from what I saw, this man led the life of a privileged prisoner. He got money from his lady, who he said was the best card-player in Arkolda, and, in addition, he played money himself by betting with the guards as well as with the prisoners, and as he assured, sometimes he won a good sum. He had been in Carnation for two moons and had several guards “in his pocket,” as he said. He would buy them cigars, cups of coffee, dandepassion, and other substances, which he shared with his friend the Raiwanese. When I heard all this, I thought Le Bor was my salvation. So, towards the end of the afternoon, I asked him in a detached tone:

“Say, Bor. Do you buy karuja too?”

He looked at me appraisingly.

“No, but I could get some, why?”

I met Cuckoo’s watchful gaze and had a nervous twitch.

“N-no, for nothing.”

And I went and huddled close to Farigo. Of all my roommates, the one I disliked the most—or the one I liked the least, depending on the perspective—was Cuckoo. He seemed to me to be a moody fellow. And a busybody. I knew that sooner or later I would have to resort to Le Bor to get my supply of karuja. But I didn’t want everyone to know about it. It would have been a bit, I don’t know, like revealing my weakness to the four winds. It was something that was simply not done in the Cat world. And not in the world of Carnation, either. I sighed, and ignoring the curious look Le Bor gave me, I buried my head in my arms and closed my eyes.

The next day was a day of work, and the mood in the hallway suddenly dropped. I soon knew what my days in prison would be like. They could not be more tiring and monotonous. We would get up at half past five, have a light soup for breakfast, and then a jailer would call this or that section. Those with long sentences went to the quarries to dig stone or to the factories under the strict supervision of the guards. As for me, I stayed at Carnation, unraveling old hemp ropes to recover the material. It was hard to find a more boring job. You couldn’t talk, you could hardly breathe under the gruff eyes of the guards or you would get a good beating or have your food ration reduced to unsuspected limits… We were like that, silent and hardworking, until noon. We ate. We continued our work until seven o’clock. We would return to our cells, have dinner, and at nine o’clock, we would all go to sleep.

I had a silly problem. When I undid the tarred ropes, my right hand did not bleed like the other, and I was afraid of arousing suspicion. To remedy this, I put my hands together to stain my right hand with blood and pretended to suck on both of them, as if both were hurting. My precautionary technique was more than enough to avoid any embarrassing questions. But, anyway, to die at the stake as a necromancer or to die of pain and thirst for lack of sokwata, to tell the truth… I don’t know which I liked better. Fortunately, Le Bor might be willing to buy me some karuja. That is, if I had the courage to ask him.

Finally, on the morning of the fifth day, as we were having breakfast, I approached Le Bor and whispered to him:

“Bor. Can I ask you something?”

He arched an eyebrow at my nervousness.

“What do you want?”

I hesitated and moved closer to his ear before I said:

“I’d like to buy you some karuja. I don’t have any money. But I swear, when I get out, I’ll owe you big time. I promise, I swear.”

Le Bor looked me in the eye and laughed loudly.

“And you think I’m going to believe you, huh?”

Now the attention of the others had turned to us. I got all flushed and said:

“Yes. I’m not lying.”

Le Bor looked at me, his eyes squinting.

“Are you so addicted you can’t wait a moon?”

I did not answer him, but I gave him a pleading look. He looked at me thoughtfully, and suddenly a smile stretched his lips.

“Okay. But I may be asking you for more than money. A favor within these three walls and this gate. I’ll explain it to you tonight, okay?”

I nodded apprehensively. I could not see what service I could do for him now, not having a nail in my pocket, but I had no doubt that, whatever he asked of me, I would do it. Because, without Le Bor, I was dead.

The jailers soon arrived to take us to the workroom, and all day long I thought of the service which Le Bor would ask of me. I had nothing else to do but think and strain my hand.

When they returned us to our cells, we had dinner, Le Bor began to play the daily game of cards with the Raiwanese, Cuckoo, and Crooked Foot, and I thought he had completely forgotten our discussion of the morning when suddenly, soon after the jailer had passed into the corridor, he dropped the cards and said:

“Everyone, listen. Come, come. Pockmark. Heretic. What I have to say is your business.”

Intrigued, I went to sit at the foot of the bed, hugged my knees, and Le Bor gave me a slight smile before declaring in a low voice to everyone:

“I am pleased to announce that your dear companions Le Bor and the Raiwanese will be leaving your company before winter. And, if you think we’re going to end our lives, you’re wrong: we’re going to fly away like birds through the window. I’ve already got the equipment: I just need a little volunteer to climb up to the window and file the bars. With patience and perseverance, he will surely succeed. A volunteer?” he added.

All of them were stunned by the news, but I reacted quickly, understanding the unspoken proposal:

“I volunteer.”

“Natural you do,” Le Bor smiled. “And, now, I need six volunteers to shut up. Is twenty siatos each enough, gentlemen?”

Crooked Foot huffed.

“Certainly,” he affirmed in a low voice. “But, Bor, are you sure you want to escape? You have only eight moons left.”

Le Bor’s eyes twinkled.

“Eight moons is more than enough time to lose a lady. And there’s no way I’m losing her. Cuckoo, what are you saying?”

He nodded with a disinterested pout.

“It’s your business, I’m not getting involved. Of course, I won’t talk. But you better keep your word and get those twenty siatos ready as soon as you get out.”

“You’ll get them. Pockmark?”

The young reporter swore in turn, and the Heretic rolled his eyes and returned to his bed, saying:

“Do what you will, Two-Hundred-and-Three: I don’t give a saint.”

“I figured as much.” When Le Bor’s gaze turned to Farigo, the boy paled, “What about you, brat? Are you devilish enough to snitch to the guards and prevent Le Bor from reuniting with his beloved?”

Farigo shook his head in fear.

“No, sir. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Of course you won’t tell anyone. Your honor and your life depend on it.”

When I felt Le Bor’s gaze upon me, I raised my eyes to heaven.

“Neither will I, natural,” I said.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” Le Bor complimented me. “Perfect. I’ll just ask that in addition, you manage to get some pieces of hemp rope during the day. We’ll need them.”

I shrugged, looking like someone who was used to planning escapes.

“It runs.”

Le Bor smiled.

“Okay. Well, then…” He pulled several files from under his bed and handed me one. “Get to work, Four-Hundred.”

I took the tool and noticed that Le Bor had left a small black ball in the palm of my hand. The karuja, I realized. I concealed it, and, under the gaze of my roommates, climbed to the window, curled up, and glanced out at the night city. In the shadows of the night, only distant lights could be seen in the factories by the Estergat River and the faint stars shining in the sky. I had only been in prison a week, and yet how I wished I could be out there with my cronies, free and without having to put up with the manias of the guards or drink their filthy soup! I suddenly felt in complete agreement with Le Bor’s decision. I understood perfectly well that to lose eight moons of life at Carnation instead of spending them with his lady was an injustice. Especially since, according to what he said, his only crime had been to curse the ancestors of a nail-pincher. He deserved to get out of there with his head held high.

I grabbed the bars and felt around. The window narrowed outwards. It had a grate, and the bars, vertical and horizontal, were very large and strong iron, but they were not pure black steel. I smiled, stuffed the karuja into my pocket for when I needed it, cast a silence spell, and began to file.

7 Raspberries taste better in prison

Not for a single day did Le Bor fail to give me my dose of karuja. He kept his word, and I kept mine. In fact, at first I had no idea how much karuja I needed to avoid the effects of sokwata deficiency. It depended on the day, and it didn’t help: it eased the pain and almost made it go away, but not completely, so that every night when I got back to the cell, the pain got worse and worse, to the point of being unbearable. One evening, at the beginning of Wolves Moon, I was mortally frightened when, on entering the cell, I did not see Le Bor. I stammered:

“Where is Le Bor?”

“The Spirits have taken him away,” Cuckoo threw out, looking glum.

And he laughed at my horrified look. The Raiwanese intervened in a deep voice.

“Don’t listen to that scoundrel: Le Bor made a scene, and they sent him to sweep up as punishment, that’s all. He’ll be back soon.”

It was the first time he had spoken so many words to me in succession, and for that reason, and perhaps because of my somewhat dazed state, I continued to stare at him. I did not quite understand the meaning of the words, and after a silence, I stammered again:

“Where is Le Bor?”

This time no one answered me. I received astonished looks from all, and I avoided them by turning to the bars. I grabbed them, rested my forehead against one, and waited. But Le Bor wasn’t coming. Dinner came, and I emptied my bowl without appetite before returning to my bars. Nothing. My pulse quickened, my eyes stung… and Le Bor wasn’t coming. So, after a while, I sat down in a corner. Farigo greeted me with a half-cautious, half-curious expression.

“Draen? You got a problem?” he whispered to me.

I didn’t know what to say to him. My heart was pounding as if I had just run through Estergat at full speed. Then my eyes went to the bag with Le Bor’s belongings. I looked at the Raiwanese out of the corner of my eye. He was lying on his bed, only a few inches from the bag, but his eyelids were closed. With a few harmonies of silence, I could probably get the karuja out without him hearing me, couldn’t I? The Heretic was looking at me. Bah. What did that guy care what I could do?

I moved quietly. I walked on all fours. And I came close to the bag. I opened it, and… the Raiwanese’s grip closed on my arm. I let out a muffled exclamation.

“Don’t touch Le Bor’s stuff,” the huge elf growled at me.

He looked me in the eye, without letting go. I nodded silently. My eyes were burning, and my head was hurting more than my clenched arm. Then the sound of footsteps came from the corridor, and the Raiwanese released me. The door of the cell opened, and Le Bor sauntered in. I had not moved, still kneeling by the bag. Le Bor looked round, seemed to notice that something had happened, and commented:

“It looks like there’s been a storm over here.”

“Well, well, the sweeper is back,” Cuckoo smiled with friendly mockery. “The gwak has been pining for you.”

Le Bor’s eyes fell on me, then on the Raiwanese, and then the ruffian shook his head gently.

“I understand.”

He bent down beside me, fished a karuja pill out of the bag, but instead of giving it to me at once, he fiddled with it thoughtfully.

“You wanted to take it yourself, didn’t you? You shouldn’t, Four-Hundred. I could punish you today and not give it to you. What do you think?”

The mere thought of spending the whole night in hell filled my eyes with tears. I said nothing, but a look was worth more than a thousand words. Le Bor had a dark expression. Finally, he sighed.

“You’re a pity, Four-Hundred.”

And he gave me the karuja pill. I put it in my mouth, swallowed and, obeying a silent gesture from Le Bor, went away to my corner. Gradually, the pain went away almost entirely. But not the shame. I pushed it away as best I could, and when Cuckoo gave me a mocking look as I went to play the daily card game, I held his gaze with dignity. As the cell filled with comments about the game, Farigo joined me on all fours.

“What was that?” he asked.

I gave him a surprised look.

“Don’t you know what karuja is?”

As he shook his head, I smiled and ruffled his hair, saying:

“Something very bad, shyur. But if I don’t take it, I’ll pop off. Listen, you, don’t you dare take it, not even as a joke, eh? Otherwise I’ll pop you off.”

Farigo rolled his eyes.

“Is it that bad?”

“Ragingly bad,” I assured him. I paused. “Wanna play morra?”

Farigo came to life.

“Ragingly!”

I smiled. The little spinner was learning the Cats’ lingo with astonishing speed.

* * *

In spite of my performance on my first day in prison, the priest and I got on quite well, and once he even gave me a necklace with a star of the Daglat made of oak. He also gave one to Farigo, and on the Feast of the Innocents, the third Sacredday of Wolves Moon, he taught all of us child prisoners a religious song to sing in front of the jailers and other prisoners. All applauded us. As we were already returning to the cell, Le Bor said to me in a mocking tone:

“You know we’ve heard you bawl more than anyone else, Four-Hundred?”

I smiled broadly and replied:

“Natural: I’m a gwak Cat.”

That day, Le Bor was in a very good mood. That’s because it was visiting day. At noon, while we were all in our cells killing time, a jailer started calling numbers.

“Two hundred and three!”

Le Bor was ready. He had put on his frock coat and paid a barber. He had even managed to get me to shine his shoes in exchange for the usual karuja ball and two biscuits he had left over from the previous visit.

“I’m going, my lady is waiting,” he announced with a broad smile. He walked out into the hallway with the gait of a king and was handcuffed.

“Three hundred and sixty-seven!”

That was Pockmark. Who knows who might have come to visit him? Apart from the two of them, no one else came out of our cell. Every time I heard a number beginning with four hundred I flinched very slightly, but they were all false alarms. Who the hell was going to visit me anyway? My cronies? They couldn’t: they weren’t of age. Nor Yal, not Yerris, not Sla. And besides, they had, bureaucratically speaking, no family ties to me. And, obviously, Korther wasn’t going to come in person to wring my ears off.

“Get moving!” a guard called out.

The line of prisoners with visitors departed, leaving the corridor silent. I let go of the bars, and as soon as I turned around, I noticed Farigo’s gloomy expression. Was he thinking of his mother, the spinner, who had cast him out of the family like a black sheep? He must have been thinking something of that sort, for the poor fellow looked as if he were about to cry. I pushed his head with an affectionate hand, chiefly to console him a little, and said:

“I’m going up.”

I climbed up to the window with the help of the bunk beds, and clutched at the grate. The sky that day was blue, and a cold winter air came in through the opening. I curled up and twisted myself to fit over the narrow embrasure. Then, in addition to the sky, I saw the roofs of Estergat, the Ravines, and even a bit of river. After a few moments of contemplating the view, captivated, I discreetly took out the file, cast a spell of silence and continued to scrape the bar.

Most of the time, I worked at night, but today was Sacredday, and as Le Bor had scheduled the escape for a week from now, I had to hurry. Le Bor said that, when prisoners escaped, the authorities offered such generous rewards that all the citizens volunteered to give chase. Eight siatos for catching you near Carnation, fourteen in the city, twenty and even thirty siatos if they caught you outside Estergat. Which, for many, represented the earnings of an entire moon. Still, Le Bor claimed he had friends and that his plan would work. Well, let’s hope so.

When Le Bor returned, the penultimate bar was already almost cut. Hearing the sound of footsteps in the corridor, I hurried downstairs, stretched, and massaged my aching muscles. Le Bor entered, a smile on his face. My eyes widened as I saw what he was carrying in his hands. It was a raspberry cake. Just the sight of it was a treat.

Lying on my stomach with my elbows on the floor, I watched as Le Bor shared the cake with his friend, the Raiwanese, while he gleefully recounted how his lady had won a mountain of gold the night before. I was barely listening to what he was saying: my eyes were riveted on every bite he took of the cake. In fact, we were all looking at him, except Pockmark, who lay melancholy on his bed.

“Hey, Four-Hundred,” Le Bor said with a slight smile. “Want a bite?”

My mouth watered just hearing the invitation. I didn’t want to fall into any trap, but I wanted to taste the cake so badly…

“What do you want in return?” I asked.

Le Bor rolled his eyes.

“Just keep filing, isn’t that enough?”

Was he serious or was he just messing with me? I stood up and approached cautiously. To my surprise, Le Bor placed a generous piece of cake in my hands and said:

“Happy Innocents’ Day, shyur.”

My hands got all dirty in cream, but the piece of cake looked Patron-Saintly great. I stepped back and, seeing Farigo’s envious expression, I split the piece and gave him the largest share.

“Dig in.”

Farigo looked at me in disbelief, but he did not ask for me to repeat. We each ate our share and licked and sucked our fingers. Only when we were beginning to digest the delicious meal did the little spinner say to me:

“Thank you.”

I shrugged and smiled at him.

“You’re welcome, shyur. Pleasure shared is pleasure magnified,” I recited wisely. And my smile widened as I remembered that once, long ago, I had said the same thing to my nakrus master, except instead of raspberry cake, that time it was the morjas of a rabbit bone I had stolen from my master.

* * *

That night I broke the penultimate bar, and the next day, while we were having lunch, I told Le Bor in a whisper.

“All that’s left is to file down the horizontal bar on the left,” I whispered. “Do you think the Raiwanese will get through?”

“Of course he will,” Le Bor growled without even glancing up at the window at the top of the wall. “And if he has trouble getting through, I’ll push him,” he assured. “He’ll get through.”

If you say so, I thought. My gaze wandered to Le Bor’s friend. The huge elf was standing by the gate, absorbed and very busy taking small sips from a bottle of wine.

“You wonder why they sentenced that big guy, huh?” I turned. Le Bor’s eyes were smiling. I shrugged, nodded, and put on a questioning face. Then, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, he said, “Body snatching.”

My stomach churned.

“You mean… he steals things from the graves?”

“If you consider corpses as things, then yes.” He chuckled softly at my dumbfounded expression. “Get real, shyur. The Passion Flower Hospital gives a good price for every piece. I know what I’m talking about: I gave him a hand in the summer. Doctors pay gold. Oh, come on, Four-Hundred, don’t make that face! It’s worse to steal from the living than from the dead, don’t you think? A dead man, after all, doesn’t even know anything.”

I looked thoughtful and accepted the argument.

“That’s right. Unless someone resurrects him.”

Le Bor gave me a mocking look.

“And do you know many who are able to raise the dead? The Raiwanese is,” he said, amused, as I did not answer. “The Raiwanese raises the dead.”

I finished my soup and decided to change the subject.

“What about the rope? Is it long enough already?”

“To hang oneself yes, to escape no…” He laughed. “It’s a joke, shyur. It’s long enough. At most, we’ll be a few feet short of getting to the bottom… If you can steal a little more, do so, and I’ll reinforce the rope. But don’t take any chances. Other than that, you’ve only got one more bar to go.”

“Yes…” I hesitated and said in a whisper, “Say, you don’t forget the karuja, eh?”

I don’t know why I lowered my voice every time I said the word karuja. It was ridiculous, especially because everyone in the cell already knew I was taking it, and the guards must have guessed. What the guards couldn’t—and shouldn’t—imagine was what I was giving Le Bor in return.

“I’ll give you a supply so you don’t run out,” Le Bor promised me. “But… if you want my advice, I’d stop taking it. If you intend to pay for a dose every day, you’ll have no choice but to work for those Cat smugglers… if you weren’t already doing that before you came here.”

I grimaced, looked down at my empty bowl and ran my finger over to finish cleaning it. I knew that Le Bor did not ask me for an answer. However, I gave him one.

“No. I wasn’t working for anyone.”

The footsteps of the guards could already be heard in the corridor. Without looking up, I sucked my finger and left the bowl with the others. Then Le Bor said:

“I believe you.”

I turned to him in surprise. Le Bor smiled.

“That’s why… I repeat my advice.”

I gave him an embarrassed pout and turned to the bars as the jailers opened the cells and called the prisoners in. I frowned in surprise. Something was going on. We all walked to the bars and saw the warden appear. He was a tall, square-faced kadaelf with yellow eyes. He was seen only occasionally in the large room where the ropes were being undone. He stopped in front of our cell.

“Three hundred and sixty-two and three hundred and eight!” he proclaimed. “Get your things and come with us. You’re going to be transferred.”

Crooked Foot and Heretic stirred nervously.

“Where?” the former asked.

“To Stron,” the warden replied. “You’re going to help in the mines, with the rails and that sort of thing.”

He went on to the next cell to call another prisoner, and I stood back from the gate and looked at Crooked Foot and Heretic with a mixture of sorrow and envy. Sorrow because I would not see them again, and envy because I knew that the mining town of Stron was right in the mountains. At least they would be able to see mountains every day.

“My friends,” Le Bor said in a gentlemanly tone. “Glad to have known you.”

“Likewise,” Heretic replied wryly. Carrying a bag that must not have weighed half a pound, he crossed the threshold.

Crooked Foot, as the good free trader that he was, was more sociable. He shook hands with Le Bor, Cuckoo, the Raiwanese, and Pockmark, and to my satisfaction, he did not forget me, and ruffled my hair.

“Keep singing, Four-Hundred,” he said to me.

I smiled, he went out, and the guards closed the gate to make sure that all who were outside were only the prisoners they were transferring to Stron. I clung to the bars, and seeing the line of prisoners already moving out into the corridor, I intoned,

Oh, no! I will never forgeeeet!
O dear companion of my life,
that we shared the same bread
and almost the same bed.

The joke, though popular, drew smiles, and many of the prisoners, to season the occasion, clapped and whistled.

“May the Spirits watch over you, comrades!” one of them cried.

Another sang a prisoner’s song, and several joined in, and so away went our fellow prisoners, amidst the tumult, the verses, and the cheers. At last, I stepped away from the gate and watched the casual expression of Le Bor, still sitting on the bed. I thought I could guess his thoughts: with Heretic and Crooked Foot gone, he would have forty siatos less to pay. As long as we didn’t have new recruits coming in…

Except they came.

Among them, a Black Dagger.

8 My new tutor

Actually, only one new recruit came to us: in the afternoon, after working all day, we returned to our cell and found a new convict. And how surprised I was when I recognized Alvon. The Black Dagger was easily recognizable with his green boots, blue cape and red hat. If he had looked at me, at that moment I would probably have let out without thinking: thunder, ayo, sir, what a good surprise! But he paid no attention to me: his eyes were fixed on Le Bor, and especially on the Raiwanese, who, by his strong and imposing appearance, stood out among the others.

“Blasthell,” Le Bor swore. “Usually when one goes, two come. You wouldn’t happen to be short of boarders, would you?”

He mockingly asked the jailer who opened the cell for us. The jailer replied in a rather friendly tone:

“Complain and we’ll bring you five more, ruffian.”

So we went into the cell in single file. My left fingernails were bleeding from handling the tarred ropes, and I was smearing them with saliva. I went to sit on the Crooked Foot’s bed, wondering whether I should talk to Alvon and say “ayo” or pretend I didn’t know him. He hadn’t noticed me yet. Maybe he didn’t even remember me: after all, he had only seen me twice.

The Black Dagger was sitting on Heretic’s bed, and crossing his arms, Cuckoo leaned against the wall just beside it.

“Well, well,” he said. “Let me guess. With those jester’s clothes on, I’ll bet a fivenail you’re a hustler.”

Le Bor laughed, dropping onto the Raiwanese’s bed.

“You see trade brothers everywhere.”

“Do you take the bet?”

“I do.” He gauged Alvon with his eyes. “Ayo, friend. Let me introduce myself: I am Two Hundred and Three, nicknamed Le Bor. And you, you are…?”

Alvon did not answer immediately. His eyes lingered on Farigo and me for a moment before turning to Le Bor.

“Twenty.”

His cold voice did not invite much conversation. Le Bor shook his head.

“Oh. So they reset the counter. What’s up? Is it my impression or are you a little tense, Twenty? Maybe you’d like a cigar.”

He offered him the cigar. Alvon refused curtly:

“No, thanks.”

As Le Bor tried to figure out what kind of new companion fortune had bestowed upon us, I wondered what the hell Alvon was doing there. Wasn’t he supposed to be off with Yerris on some task? It was likely that they had already returned, but then… why was he at Carnation? Could it be that he got caught with some forbidden magara, like the year before? Who knows.

Farigo sat with me on Crooked Foot’s bed. If we bent our legs a little, the two of us had enough room to lie down. I was glad of that. It was better to sleep on boards than on the stone floor. I leaned against the wall, bent my knees, and continued to suck on my bloody fingers.

“You are less talkative than my friend the Raiwanese,” Le Bor observed, and he smiled, “but, as long as you are as quiet with everybody, I shall not feel offended.”

I understood his fears: he did not want to put the escape plan into practice unless he was sure that this new intruder would not sell us out in exchange for some better diet or other rewards which the jailers promised to those who behaved particularly well.

The meal was brought in, and after dinner, as he received nothing but dry, monosyllabic replies from Alvon, Le Bor decided to ignore him, took out the cards, and sat down with the Raiwanese and Cuckoo. As Crooked Foot was gone and Pockmark had declared himself an anti-player, Le Bor turned to me.

“Join us, Four-Hundred?”

It was not a proposal, but rather an injunction. I walked over, picked up my cards, looked at them, and objected:

“I don’t have any money to bet.”

“Ah, and who needs it when you can borrow it?” Le Bor replied. He gave me four fivenails. I hesitated, but he insisted: “You’ll pay me later.”

Knowing that I owed him a lot more than four fivenails for the karuja anyway, I figured that at this point it wouldn’t make much difference, so I agreed and played with Cuckoo as my partner. We won. After an hour, we had collected a nice sum of four siatos. Le Bor was snorting.

“You’re a brigand, Four-Hundred. Where did you learn to play forks?”

“In the taverns of the Cats,” I replied.

When I saw the Cuckoo pocketing the fruits of our labor, I let out an incredulous exclamation.

“What on earth are you doing, Cuckoo?” I protested. “A gentleman shares the winnings equally. Two siatos for me, two siatos for you.”

Cuckoo’s expression became mocking.

“A gentleman?” He looked over his shoulder, theatrically. “I don’t see a gentleman anywhere. Come on, kid,” he added as I glared at him. “Calm yourself. I’ll give you the four fivenails Le Bor lent you. But don’t throw a tantrum: I have a very low tolerance for spoiled brats.”

“No, no, don’t give them to him,” Le Bor interjected, amused. “He already owes me anyway more than ten goldies. I’ll spare him the peanuts.”

And as I looked at him in distress, he laughed. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious. Either way, my attention was focused on Cuckoo.

“That’s not being a hustler: that’s behaving like a scaluftard,” I said. “When you play with a partner, you share, you filthy demorjed.”

I added the last words to let off steam, because I knew that Cuckoo wasn’t going to listen to me anyway. Although the insult was unfamiliar to him, the tone was sufficient. With a speed I would not have suspected, the hustler grabbed me by the shirt and bellowed in my face:

“You little rascal! Is this how you treat your elders? Ten years! You should spend ten years in this mousetrap to bring down that demon character! Or maybe you’d better push up daisies! Even a devil is good at that! You want my money? Well, steal it from me if you’re such a scoundrel, rogue!”

While he shouted theatrically, evidently to frighten me and make me desist from my legitimate aspirations, I tactfully swallowed a whole string of insults and pretended to see reason. A jailer arrived shouting to impose silence. Satisfied with my apparent submission, Cuckoo let me go, and I returned to Farigo, lay down with my back to them all, and began to count the stars. I did it on days like this, when Cuckoo had a tantrum, or when my desire to get out of this hole made me taciturn. It was a hobby like any other, and the funny thing was that I could count the stars lying on my side, and even on my stomach: they were everywhere. That’s why I never managed to get to the last one. One, two… twenty… one hundred… one thousand two hundred… I sighed in the silence of the cell. It was time for lights out, and all that could be heard was throat-clearing and murmuring.

“One thousand two hundred and one,” I whispered.

And I rolled my eyes. Frankly, I sometimes wondered if I wasn’t losing my mind a little.

The next morning, wanting to check whether Alvon had recognized me or not, I spent a good while staring at him during breakfast. Receiving nothing but a frown, I concluded that he didn’t remember me. In any case, he didn’t seem to pay any more attention to me than the Raiwanese did, which is to say, none at all.

The Black Dagger was sent with Le Bor, the Raiwanese, and the Cuckoo to work on the construction of a new building in the Carnation compound. And he must not have been used to so much effort, for in the evening he came back with dark circles, and no sooner had he had dinner than he lay down and fell asleep on his bed.

“The rookie’s life is tough,” Le Bor declared, mockingly, without looking away from his cards.

“Damn tough,” Cuckoo muttered with a crooked smile. “It seems that those who put on airs of solid men are the ones who fall first.”

“Bend a flower, and it will rise again; bend a rock, and it will break,” Le Bor recited.

I looked at him, fascinated, and Le Bor, noticing my gaze, looked amused and threw a card.

“Not only bards can be poets,” he remarked.

I smiled.

“Dead round, dead round,” I agreed, and I played my turn. That day, by mutual consent, we did not bet any money, and consequently Cuckoo was much more bearable.

“Have you already thought of a prank?” Cuckoo asked.

He was referring to the inevitable hazing that every good new prisoner had to undergo to enter our brotherhood of inmates. I rolled my eyes and glanced at the sleeping Black Dagger.

“He doesn’t seem like the type to take pranks well,” I said.

“You said it,” Le Bor approved. “But it’s not our cell that’s going to break tradition.” He exchanged a smile with the Cuckoo and turned to me. “This time it’s your turn, Four-Hundred. What do you propose?”

I opened my eyes wide. Me? Playing a trick on Alvon, a Black Dagger… Yerris’ master? I huffed, nervous.

“No, no, I don’t do that kind of thing.”

“I promise you, if he throws himself at you, I’ll help you out,” Le Bor scoffed.

And he looked at me sharply, as if to remind me that, although he was quite well behaved with me, he was the one calling the shots, not me. I gave in, bit my cheek and tried to think of something. I played a card.

“How about I sing him something? The insult ballad?” I suggested. And when I saw that neither Le Bor nor the Cuckoo seemed to be enthusiastic about the idea, I went on, “I can hide his boots, put a dead cockroach in his bowl, or… or… make a tie with his pointed red hat?”

But nothing convinced them. Le Bor opined:

“Surprise us and don’t tell us.” He showed his cards with a sigh. “This time I would have won the bet. Bad luck.”

When I saw that no one was talking about my mission anymore, I left the maps and went to sit on the bed with Farigo. I cursed sajits and their crazy ideas. I didn’t want Alvon to get angry with me. Yerris said he wasn’t a violent person… but if I played a trick on him, no doubt, the chances of getting along with each other would fall to zero. After turning the matter over in my mind, I finally resolved not to listen to them, and when the lights went out, I made sure that Le Bor noticed that I was getting up to file the horizontal bar. He should see that I was still useful and not ask me to do anything I didn’t want to do, devils. I spent three hours working. That’s why when the whistle blew in the morning I almost didn’t hear it. It was the Cuckoo who really woke me up by clapping his hands to my ear.

“Rise and shine, gwak!”

Half asleep I picked up my bowl and stood by the bars. The jailer with the pot was already passing by. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alvon holding out his bowl in turn. He also looked half asleep. Cuckoo commented:

“Maybe the new guy needs a tonic to wake him up.”

The Black Dagger gave him a cold look in reply and went to sit on his bed to drink his bowl… I caught Le Bor’s gaze, and my resolve to do nothing wavered. Blasthell. What if Le Bor decided to finish filing the missing bar himself and leave me without my karuja supply? I made a weary pout, and his expression changed. I read his thought clearly. It was a: demons, Four-Hundred, you’re not going to chicken out now. He was testing me, I realized. I gritted my teeth. And I reaffirmed my decision. I took the full bowl to Le Bor as usual, looked him in the eye in silence, and he warned me:

“Don’t look me in the eye, rascal.”

I looked down, but I could see his mocking smile as he accepted the bowl. We had lunch. I was scraping my bowl for the third or fourth time with the tenacity of one who hopes to see more soup pop out of nowhere when a jailer appeared, escorted by two guards, and said:

“Four-Hundred. Come out of the cell.”

That gave me a fright. I had to get out of the cell, it runs, but why me alone? I left the bowl by the bars and walked out. They didn’t put the handcuffs on me, so I figured I wouldn’t get very far. Le Bor asked in surprise:

“Where are you taking him?”

The jailer and the other guards ignored him, which made me even more nervous.

We walked down the hallway past the other cells, past several gates, and they ushered me into a small room with a desk, two guards, an official, and… to my surprise, there was also Zoria—the Blue One—and the bearded man with the braided hair and purple headband.

“Thunders,” I muttered. They hadn’t come here to ask me about the alchemist in front of the flies, had they?

“Is it this boy?” the official asked.

“Let me see him more closely,” the bearded man replied. “Come closer, kid.”

Making several faces of surprise and amazement, I approached. The Blue One was staring at me. That annoying habit of trying to read my mind…

“You… recognize me, don’t you, kid?” the bearded man asked.

I nodded and smiled.

“I do. The one from The Ballerinas. You stole my pendant.”

The bearded man smiled back and nuanced:

“You left it behind, which is different. Here you go.”

He took the pendant out of his pocket and handed it to me. I took it, more and more surprised. Had he come to Carnation Prison only to give me the pendant back? I checked that it was the same metal plate, and as I put it around my neck, the bearded man straightened up and said:

“It’s him. Although he’s a little skinnier. You don’t feed him much, do you?”

“You are here in a house of correction, sir, not in a fancy inn,” the official replied. He slid a form across the table. “Sign here, please.”

The bearded man examined the form as if he wanted to learn it by heart. Finally, he dipped the tip of the quill into the inkwell and signed.

“You better not make me regret that decision, kid,” he commented.

I shook my head, increasingly perplexed.

“I don’t understand,” I admitted. “What’s all this about?”

It was the civil servant who answered with a kind smile:

“In two weeks, when you have served your sentence, if all goes well, you will be on probation. And Mr. Malaxalra has decided to pay your fine and take you under his tutelage until you find an occupation that will give you something to earn your keep.”

I looked at him and then at the so-called Mr. Malaxalra and then at the Blue One. I huffed.

“For real?”

The bearded man smiled.

“For real and in Drionsan, kid. I have reason to believe that… Well, I’ll explain it to you when you get out,” he said, seeing that a guard was already grabbing me by the shoulder. He made a saluting gesture and joked, “Take advantage of these two weeks to put on some weight.”

As the guard pushed me with unusual gentleness towards the open gate from which I had come, I turned my head and met the disturbing gaze of the Blue One. I frowned, uncomfortable. Well, okay, great: the bearded one had taken me under his tutelage, that was wonderful, but… did I have to accept it? Because, well, by accepting it, I implicitly felt like I was also accepting to tell the whole truth about the alchemist. And information like that didn’t just depend on me: it depended on thirty-two gwak sokwatas. Unless the Alchemist has already found the final cure, I thought as I walked down the hall. The thought filled me with hope.

9 It’s always darkest just before the dawn

The nearer the day of Le Bor’s and the Raiwanese’s escape approached, the more nervous I felt, and with good reason, for, if it went wrong and our complicity was discovered, we were all liable to severe punishment. I wished they would have run away after I had left, but that was unlikely: the last bar was already almost filed down on both sides, and in the end, everything worked according to Le Bor’s plan. The only obstacle that remained uncertain was Alvon. He had not yet been informed of anything.

One evening, Le Bor beckoned me to come closer and whispered to me:

“What are you waiting for to keep filing?”

I grimaced and said:

“You think it’s safe?”

The ruffian wrinkled his nose and then turned to Alvon.

“Say, Twenty. You still haven’t told us why you ended up here. Come on. I’m willing to pay half a goldy for a good answer.”

The Black Dagger was still eating his soup. He swallowed slowly. After a silence, he said:

“If you pay me eighty siatos, I’ll answer you.”

I winced in amazement at the answer. Le Bor arched an eyebrow.

“Eighty siatos, no more and no less? Holy Daglat! I think I can guess the cause of your trouble,” he laughed. “Up to your ears in debt, am I on the right track?” Alvon remained impassible. “Eighty siatos,” Le Bor repeated. I could already see how, in his mind, the possibilities of bribing were growing. “You know? I’m willing to give them to you. In exchange for your silence.”

And he smiled, perhaps because, precisely, Alvon was already very silent. Finally, the Black Dagger said in a neutral voice:

“You mean the window bars that the gwak is filing?”

I blinked. Le Bor laughed.

“You’re sharp!” he said approvingly. I perceived, however, a very slight tension in his voice. “Tell me, Twenty. How do you think I’m doing? Now that’s what you call an effortless escape, right? And the kid! He’s a real angel, he works without complaining, not like that slacker,” he accused Farigo. And he took me by the shoulders, shaking me paternally. I rolled my eyes, and as soon as he let go of me, I stepped aside and went to join Farigo. “For how many moons are you staying here?” Le Bor then asked.

Alvon was slow to respond, as if he needed time to process the question.

“Until I get out,” he said at last.

“Uh. Natural,” Le Bor smiled, mockingly.

There was silence. Then Alvon asked:

“Where are you going to get the eighty siatos from?”

Le Bor’s smile widened.

“Ah! My lady will take care of it. She’s a queen. She can make two-hundred goldies in an afternoon.”

Things came to pass, and in a few minutes, Alvon agreed to keep silent in exchange for eighty siatos. He asked to participate in the escape himself, and Le Bor became suspicious and told him that if he gave him the eighty siatos, why would he escape. Alvon told him that it was his business, but that he was compromising himself to help him effectively during the escape and that his help would far outweigh the eighty siatos. Le Bor was finally convinced, they shook hands, and after the lights went out, under Le Bor’s watchful eye, I climbed up and continued to file the bar.

The escape was planned for the night of Sacredday to Young Day. That is, in two days. And, as Le Bor, who was an expert in betting, used to say: either everything went well or everything went badly.

* * *

Everything was ready. We had just had dinner and were anxiously waiting for the lights to go out while playing a game of forks. To my regret, I had Cuckoo as a partner again. I warned him that, if we won, he could keep the money, but if we lost, he would pay the losses. We lost. And Cuckoo, of course, blamed me. When he had to find someone to blame, it was always me.

As I watched the coins disappear into Le Bor’s pockets, I was suddenly very aware of how little time I had left at Carnation. Strangely, I thought about the future and an idea came to me. Le Bor was already putting the cards away. After a hesitation which lasted no more than two seconds, I pulled him by the sleeve and whispered to him:

“Say, Bor. I was thinking.”

“No kidding.”

“Yes. Listen to this. You’re going to give Pockmark and Cuckoo twenty, aren’t you? Twenty, eighty. And… and, I did all the work. The bars, the rope, and… well, I did all that, so…”

Le Bor looked at me with an unsuppressed smile.

“So what, shyur? In exchange, I spent twenty goldies on karuja, remember?”

I turned pale. Wow, he sure had spent a lot of money. Suddenly, my request seemed ridiculous, and I gave up.

“Yeah. Dead round,” I sighed. I bit my lip and observed though, “But I did all the work.”

Although I spoke to Le Bor in a low voice, Cuckoo heard me and let out a sardonic laugh.

“That gwak’s such a rascal…”

“He’s absolutely right,” Le Bor retorted calmly.

I looked at him, surprised.

“Am I?”

“You are, Four-Hundred: I’ll give you ten goldies if you do me one last favour.” And as I looked at him, puzzled, he drew his lips to my ear and whispered very low, “When you go out, go to The Joyful Spirit, in the Cat Quarter, and ask to see Caldisona. She will give you the money.”

I looked at him in amazement. Why was he talking to me in such a way that the others couldn’t hear us? Besides, it didn’t sound so much like a favor as it did like directions on how to collect my reward. I shrugged and nodded.

“It runs.”

Le Bor smiled.

“Perfect.”

He leaned against the wall with his arms folded, and I saw him look intently at the window and the small rectangular opening. Outside, it was pouring rain.

“You’ll get soaked,” I observed after a silence.

“Bah, the worst night for the watchman is the best for the escapee,” Le Bor replied in a whisper. He smiled. Mentally, I bet a fivenail that he was thinking of his lady.

The lights went out, and we lay down in silence. When the jailer came by at eleven o’clock no one was sleeping in the cell. He walked away. And as soon as his footsteps ceased to be heard, Le Bor, the Raiwanese, Alvon, and I rose to our feet. We knew what we had to do. The Raiwanese removed the grate; Alvon cast a silence spell to absorb the noise; and I helped to secure the rope. When the escape route was ready, Le Bor shook hands with Cuckoo, ruffled my hair, and climbed up, helped by the Raiwanese. He disappeared down the rope. Then it was Alvon who helped the strong elf through the small window. It was not easy, but he did it, and when the rope slackened, instead of going straight up, he turned to me, took me by the shoulder, and whispered:

“When you get out, tell Korther that Yerris is not guilty.”

It was the first time he explicitly showed that he recognized me, and to tell the truth, my first reaction was to feel ashamed for being so submissive to Le Bor because of the karuja. But, hey, to hell with shame. After putting aside questions of dignity, I absorbed the meaning of Alvon’s words, but by the time I wanted to ask him to explain, he had already climbed to the window, and I saw him disappear as I scratched my neck. Well… it runs, Yerris wasn’t guilty, and I was happy about that, but… guilty of what?

I sighed, climbed up, and finding that the rope was already free, untied it as they had asked me to do; I landed on the ground again, and Cuckoo passed me a bottle, which contained something which would put us into a deep lethargy. We would tell the guards that it was Le Bor who had given it to us at dinner, which was true, and I wondered where he had got it. We would sleep like bears through the morning, and the loudest cry would not wake us. I took a sip, gave the bottle to Farigo, who gave it back to Cuckoo. I lay down and waited for the effects. I waited for more than an hour. They did not come. For a moment, I thought that Cuckoo had deceived me. But no: I saw that he, Pockmark, and Farigo were fast asleep. I even pulled his ears to make sure. Nothing. My cellmates were all asleep. And I was not. Was it because I was a sokwata? I did not know, but I was in trouble. I lay down again, nervously, and tried to sleep. I was tired, but I couldn’t sleep at all.

Later, the night watchman came by again. His footsteps came closer and closer, and the light of his lantern grew brighter and brighter. I had my back to him, and fortunately so, for when he uttered a shout I opened my eyes wide. The alarm sounded, and in a few minutes, the whole prison was turned upside down; shrill whistling sounds were heard outside, and guards entered the cell with dogs. They found that all were asleep, except me. They took me by the arm and shouted at me. I pretended to be absolutely stunned. It was no use. They shook me. A dog snarled and came up to me, and… my head was suddenly filled with hellish barks. I lost my mind. I dashed, and ran into a wall, and stammered something in Caeldric, and I think I was asking my master for help, for he appeared and said to me with sweetness and wisdom:

“Courage and bravery, son.”

He gave me a rabbit bone, and I bit it, but I don’t know what I actually bit. Anyway, the guards were furious. If they did not get the escapees back, they might be punished with prison for negligence. Since I was the only one awake, they turned on me. They took me to a cell on the ground floor and interrogated me. They insisted on knowing where the bottle with the soporific came from, and I told them:

“Dunno. Le Bor. It’s Le Bor. It’s Le Bor…” I repeated.

Now that I was surrounded by agitation, I realized that the soporific may not have put me to sleep, but it had affected me all the same. I felt like I was in another world, and the harmonies didn’t help. With each passing second, everything became clearer, the valley sky, the trees, the yarack and the squirrels. The guards stopped shaking me and threatening me when a large dark elf entered the room. He growled something and grabbed my chin, crushing my cheeks. It was the prison warden. His yellow eyes shot through me like daggers.

“Four-Hundred. You are accused of aiding the escape of three fellow prisoners. If you talk, you won’t be charged. But until you do talk, you little louse, you’ll stay in this hole on bread and water, got it?”

I gave him a faded look and did not answer him. At last, they left me alone. I do not know how I fell asleep, but I did. When I awoke, I supposed it must be daylight already, for there was a faint light creeping under the door. A bowl of water and a loaf of bread had been brought to me. I ate my breakfast, took out a half a karuja ball from my pocket, put it in my mouth, and leaned against a wall. There were no benches in the cell, and no windows. Fortunately, there were no rats either.

On the other hand, there were many stars.

Since the hobby of counting them was a bit limited, I amused myself by giving them each a story. That one over there had been a florist who had sold a lot of carnations—no, not carnations, roses—on the corner of Moon Square. That other one, shaky and uncertain, had been that of a hatter with kind and honest thoughts. There was not a star of a thief in that sky, not a star of a jailer, a nail-pincher, or a body snatcher. There were only the good stars: the others were extinguished forever. Mine would be extinguished forever.

Curled up against the wall, I cried bitterly. I didn’t know why I felt so sad. After all, Le Bor had escaped, hadn’t he? It was because of the prison warden, I thought. His look… that stern yellow look… seemed to be telling me: you’re not getting out of prison except in a coffin. And the thought of staying there much longer made me sad, because I missed my cronies, and Yal, and Yerris… I breathed in, and in the privacy of my personal cell, I let my tears flow.

At one point, a blond guard named Rik opened a small flap in the door, glanced at me, and left the peephole open, I don’t know whether to be able to keep an eye on me or to allow me to have some light and not be in complete darkness. Three or four days must have passed, because I ran out of karuja. The rest of my supplies were hidden in the other cell. When I began to feel the pain increasing, I dragged myself to the door, hung on to the bars of the peephole, pulled myself up, and called:

“Rik!”

The blond guard, who was sitting in a chair, drawing, jumped to his feet, startled.

“What’s the matter, boy? Hey! Don’t hang yourself like that, you’ll hurt yourself.”

I slid to the ground, stepped back, and as Rik’s face appeared behind the peephole, I prayed to all the spirits in the world and let out:

“Rik. Could you bring me the karuja I have in the other cell? Please,” I begged him.

Rik’s face darkened.

“Hell no, boy.”

He was about to move away from the peephole, and I hastened to insist:

“Please. I swear, in return, I’ll do anything you want.”

“You swore the same thing to Le Bor, didn’t you?” Rik replied with a slight sarcasm.

I was at a loss for words, and he gave me a sympathetic and reproving look before walking away. I heard him sit down in the chair. Blasthell. I hung on the peephole again. Rik was still drawing. I let myself fall back and suddenly felt a convulsion in my whole body. Fear gripped me. The thought of having to go through what I’d already been through once frightened me.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, please…”

I repeated my plea countless times, but Rik didn’t listen to me. No doubt he thought he was doing me a favour by helping me detox from karuja. What the hell! He would only manage to kill me by doing so.

When his turn came to an end, Rik left his chair and walked over to the peephole to say:

“Good night, boy.”

Unlike the other times, I did not answer. He must have thought I was angry with him. I was not: I was just biting my bowl to keep from screaming. My eyes were burning, I was hungry, I was exhausted, and my body ached as if some demon was hammering at my every nerve.

It was a nightmarish night. In the morning, Rik arrived and said:

“Good morning, boy!”

I didn’t answer him either, and this time, the guard got worried. He asked me something, and huddled against the cell wall, I did not answer. I was trembling, and not only from the cold, for it seemed as if Death itself would tear at my soul before It welcomed me into its Spirit Realm. Everything was shaking in front of me. Rik called for a companion, entered the cell with him, shook me up, and I moved a little.

“Hey, kid, you okay?”

My lips dry, I opened my mouth, drew in a breath of air, opened bulging eyes, and managed to stammer out:

“Death…”

Rik’s eyes widened.

“What on earth are you saying?”

I couldn’t answer and breathed in, suffocated with pain. Rik’s companion pouted, and in the hardened, dark tone of one accustomed to such scenes, he clarified my stammer:

“Rik? I think he’s dying.”

10 Fly innocent and free like the yarack

I spent the last days of my jail sentence in the infirmary. I was given a sedative which improved my condition slightly, though not enough to stop me wishing for death in my moments of relative lucidity. I cried out for karuja, but I was not listened to, I was given an abominable soup and left to die slowly. The words I heard were mostly unintelligible to me, but I could clearly make out a conversation when some guards passed by to take away a recovered patient:

“And the boy? Isn’t he recovering?” a guard inquired.

“Well—I’m afraid this one won’t get out of jail on two legs,” the doctor replied.

And indeed, I did not come out on two legs, but I came out alive. Two days later, the first Thunderday of Squalls came, and my sentence ended. But not my ordeal. I barely noticed when guards lifted me out of the infirmary and led me to the main gate. Familiar faces appeared. I recognized the face of the bearded man and that of the giant tattooed man. The bearded man said something to me that my mind, numb with pain, did not understand. Then the giant took me in his arms, and they got me out of there.

They took me to The Ballerinas. The tavern was not very far from the prison, and the journey seemed short. In fact, everything seemed both short and long. They laid me on the same bed as last time, and I saw the bearded man open his mouth and close it again. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern. He asked me a question. Then the Blue One came up and touched my forehead. Almost immediately, she drew back with a sharp cry.

“He’s in pain,” she gasped.

I tried to tell them why, but no sound came from my throat. Then there was a noise in the corridor. I heard voices shouting. And someone growled:

“Let me through! I know him. I know what’s happening to him. Please, let me through.”

A few moments later, I saw a very familiar face. It was Yalet. I saw him take out a black pill, and although the bearded man tried to stop him, he put it in my mouth.

“But what on the devils did you give him?” the bearded man cried.

Yal pouted and did not look away from me.

“It’s a med,” he said at last.

“A med, my beard! That’s drugs, that’s what it is,” the bearded man hissed through his teeth.

Yal did not reply, and he smiled when he saw that I blinked and stopped convulsing. My heart was still racing. I stammered:

“Water.”

“I’ll bring you some right away,” the Blonde said.

Yal grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Sari, how are you?”

“Elassar,” I whispered.

I saw him shake his head and sigh with relief.

“Mothers of the Light, you sure are good at getting in trouble.”

I smiled. Now I was feeling better, much better.

“Diver told me that every self-respecting gwak stays at Carnation at least once.”

I cleared my throat, for my voice seemed frighteningly weak, and I tried to breathe more calmly as the bearded man said:

“Who are you? I’m warning you, if you’re the one who started drugging him, I’m gonna kick you out of here and fast.”

Yalet finally turned his head towards him and gave an exasperated grunt.

“I’d like to know who you are. I was waiting for Draen outside Carnation, and I saw you carrying him that way… Devils, for a moment I thought you were taking him to the cemetery. Who are you? How do you know Draen and why did you bring him here?”

The bearded man watched him with a pensive pout before answering:

“I am Kakzail Malaxalra, an escaped gladiator warrior from the kingdom of Tassia. And I have offered to tutor this boy for a time. That’s why I brought him here: he’s under my protection. And, in my opinion, he needs it.”

Yal looked at him as if waiting for some other explanation. Feeling my strength return, I looked up at the other people in the room. They were all there: the girl twins, the giant, and the redheaded caitian. The latter two were looking at the young Black Dagger with wary expressions, while the Blonde was just now leaning over to offer me the glass of water I had asked for. I sat up smiling.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

I drank as Yal inhaled, nodding.

“Okay. I don’t know what deal you have with Draen, but I’m asking you to allow him to decide if he wants to stay here or… if he wants to come with me.”

“Impossible,” Kakzail replied. “Listen, friend: the authorities had put the boy on the lists to be sent to the charity house for vagrants. Without my intervention, he would have been sent there, so I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the boy stays here. I understand your caution: we don’t know each other. But I assure you that I will take good care of the boy. And, in any case, I, for one, won’t drug him.”

Yal gave him a patient pout, and before he had time to respond, I interjected:

“Yal. They’re not bad people. They’re looking for someone, and they think I can help them, that’s all. And I… I’d like to help them. I really would. But I can’t.”

“You know where our friend is,” the Blue One pronounced. She stood at the foot of the bed, staring at me. Her inhuman eyes seemed to be telling me: don’t lie to me.

I swallowed and nodded.

“I know where he is.”

The blonde had just taken the glass of water, and hearing me, she stifled a gasp.

“Demons… You know where he is?”

I felt a little ashamed that the Blonde had actually believed me when I told her I didn’t know anything. It wasn’t every day you found someone willing to take the word of a gwak. I sighed and turned to Yal. He was looking at all of us, puzzled.

“Tell us where he is, and we’ll leave you alone,” the Blue woman insisted.

“Calm down, darlings,” Kakzail interjected. “I don’t know if this is the best time to talk: the boy just got out of jail—”

“Why can’t you tell us where he is?” the Blonde inquired, interrupting the warrior.

I looked down at my hands. Blasthell. And what could I say to them now? I let out a long sigh and lay down.

“Because…” I clear my throat. “Because, if he leaves, thirty-two gwaks are going to have to spend their lives taking karuja. And karuja ain’t cheap.”

There was a silence, and then Yal said incredulously:

“Don’t tell me… You mean the alchemist?”

As the attention turned to Yalet, who had just confirmed that he knew Dessari Wayam, I felt exhausted. I had not slept for, I think, maybe four days. Aware that I had just passed the problem on to Yal, I put on an innocent face and, surrendering to my exhaustion, closed my eyes. What would Yal do now? Tell them everything or keep quiet? Well, whatever he said, he’d probably do better than me. I was so tired that I wouldn’t have even flinched if Estergat had been sunk into the depths of the earth at that moment.

Finally, I heard Kakzail say:

“It will be better if we let the boy sleep. If you don’t mind, young man, I’d like to invite you in for a drink. I think we have some things to talk about. Or rather, Zoria, you, and Zalen have things to talk about.” I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Go to sleep, boy, and get your strength back.”

I pretended to sleep. I heard no answer from Yal, but I heard footsteps in the room. When the door closed, I listened for a moment to the silence, opened one eye, and met the eyes of Sarpas, the tattooed giant. He was sitting on the next bed with his elbows on his knees and a pensive expression. He smiled slightly at me, then turned serious, and said:

“Drugs are bad.”

He had a horrible accent. I nodded slowly. After a silence, I asked:

“Why do you have so many tattoos?”

“Oh,” Sarpas smiled. “A wizard from Tassia did this to me. The whole body. Before… they were magical tattoos. Now… almost no more.”

I let out a breath as I gazed at the strange patterns on his uncovered skin. Did they cover the rest of his body too?

“Are you from Tassia?” I inquired.

“Ah, yes, from Tassia,” Sarpas affirmed. “But, when I was a boy, me, from the north. Very far north. They call me Sarpas the Malu. Malu means… northern in Tassian. I was made a slave. Kakzail and I are… We were gladiators.”

“Gladiators?” I repeated. “What’s that?”

“Oh.” He took on a look of concentration, as if he were looking for a way to explain it. “Well. Warriors who are in a… court and, bam, they fight with weapons, you know? We used to put on shows. We were slaves. But we got free… like a fox,” he smiled, mimicking the gait of someone sneaking out with his hand. “Less than… a year ago. That’s why, my Drionsan is… pretty bad,” he admitted.

He seemed happy, despite everything, to be speaking in Drionsan, and I returned his smile before closing my eyes again and huffing:

“I’m tired.”

“Then sleep, ushkra,” Sarpas said. “I remember. My mother used to say: the dreams of a child fly innocent and free like the yarack.”

I smiled, for it was the first time that I had heard anyone other than my Master and myself speak of the yarack, the colorful mountain bird. I repeated the funny words of the northerner to myself and finally fell asleep.

* * *

When I woke up, I felt rested and almighty well. It took me a moment to understand why. I opened my eyes, yawned… and then it dawned on me. I was lying on a feather mattress, in a warm room, and I had slept at least twelve hours in a row, if not more, since it was already dark. I smiled to myself. And I looked around. The other beds were occupied. Everyone was asleep. Except for the Blonde: Zalen was sitting on the windowsill. The bluish light of the Gem illuminated her opaline face.

After a moment’s hesitation, I straightened up, slid down the bed, and approached cautiously.

“Ma’am,” I whispered.

The blonde’s eyes turned to me. Unlike her sister’s, they looked warm and natural. I added:

“Can I go out on the street?”

It seemed right to ask permission. The blonde became confused.

“Why do you want to go out on the street at this hour?” she muttered.

“I’m hungry,” I explained.

The Blonde pouted understandingly.

“I see. Well, before, I brought you a tray, in case you woke up for dinner. As you didn’t wake up, Sarpas and Kakz ate it.” She smiled. “But they left you the bread. It’s over there.”

She pointed to the little table, and still not believing it, I went over and found that there was indeed a bun there. I took a bite and returned to my bed. I finished the bun, and it did not seem much to me, but it satisfied my hunger, and gradually the hunger pangs subsided. I returned to Zalen and bit my tongue before asking:

“What did Yal tell you?”

Zalen shook her head.

“Lots of things, but not enough. He refused to tell us where the alchemist is. But he promised us he would tell him about us.”

Blasthell, I muttered inwardly. I hoped Yal knew what he was doing… I didn’t think the alchemist was a devil, but I couldn’t be sure he’d keep looking for a cure for gwaks forever. If he got away, we’d be in big trouble.

I leaned against the wall and gazed at the Gem for a moment before clouds obscured it. Then Zalen said gently:

“He told us about the salbronix mine and the sokwata.”

I looked down, ran my tongue over my dry lips and nodded silently. I suspected as much. But I didn’t want to talk about it at all.

“And my cronies?” I asked. “They have come to see you, haven’t they?”

Zalen frowned, not understanding.

“Your cronies?”

“Oh. A little dark elf and one of those called devil-eyes,” I explained. “They’re my comrades from the newspapers. I sent them to warn you that I had been pinched.”

Zalen shook her head.

“I don’t know who you mean. A boy came by. Said he was a mate of yours. A young one… rather theatrical. He wore a top hat, but otherwise he was as disheveled as you. He didn’t say his name.” I caught her smile as she added, “He said you asked the gwakery to tell us that you’d been incarnationed. It took us a while to figure out what that funny word meant.”

I tried to guess who the gwak in the top hat was, but it was no use.

“You should continue to rest,” Zalen added after a silence. “There are still two hours to go before it’s light.”

Despite the urge to go outside to get some fresh air and look for my little family, I decided to listen to the Blonde and was about to go back to my bed when curiosity held me back.

“Are you from the north too?” I asked.

Zalen smiled.

“No. Not at all. My sister and I are from the west.”

“From the mountains?” I asked, enthused.

“From beyond,” she whispered. “From far beyond.”

This puzzled me, but as her eyes wandered to the light of the Gem, I left her alone and returned to my comfortable bed. I groped for the blankets and the soft pillow. Blasthell, what a difference from prison! I smiled broadly in the darkness and reached out to listen to the breaths of the others who were sleeping placidly. I was out of Carnation. And I was… free, wasn’t I? The warden wasn’t going to appear in the morning to accuse me of complicity in the escape… was he? I dismissed my apprehensions as nonsense. I was free, my conviction was complete, and they had proved nothing. I had no need to worry, no need to hide in the Cat Quarter. I suppressed my instincts to flee and armed myself with patience.

I didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, and the Blonde didn’t move from her seat. Obviously she was not tired either. As the sky began to clear, the city’s rumble intensified, and then I heard a noise in the room and opened my eyes. The bearded man was dressing. I saw him fastening his belt, and just before he put on the purple headband I noticed the scar on his forehead. Probably he had gotten it during those gladiatorial “shows”. I met his eyes and saw him smile as he stretched.

“Ah! Good morning, boy. How are you?”

I straightened up.

“Wind in the sails, but hollow in the stomach; but that’s easily fixed, now that I’m free,” I smiled and emphasized the last word, giving him a questioning look.

Kakzail pouted.

“Yeah. Listen, before you disappear off to wherever, I’d like to talk to you. What do you think about us fixing the hollow stomach problem at the same time?”

I smiled, delighted. I wasn’t going to refuse such a kind offer, was I?

“It runs,” I agreed.

11 Brothers

Before the others had finished stretching, Kakzail and I left the room and went down to the tavern. The room was already busy with early risers coming in to have breakfast and chat before going to work. Whether it was because she didn’t remember me or because she couldn’t even imagine that the gwak she had kicked out of her place was the same one who sat at a table that day, the huge innkeeper didn’t recognize me. She smiled broadly at the bearded man and brought us a hearty breakfast.

“Thank you, ma’am!” I said, very politely. And I snatched a generous bite of a large doughnut. I laughed with my mouth full. “Good mother, this is damn good!”

I had seldom swallowed so much and so well as I had that morning. I think I even frightened Kakzail a little, and betting that it would be the last time he would invite me to eat, I made the most of the occasion. After gazing at me for a moment in silence with a half-amused, half-baffled pout, he said:

“You see. Actually, it’s about the pendant. Swallow, you don’t want to choke because of the surprise, do you…”

He paused slightly, and taking advantage of the fact that he turned his head for a moment, as if to put his thoughts in order, I put a bun in my pocket.

“I’ve already swallowed,” I informed. “What pendant are you talking about?”

“The one you wear around your neck.”

I looked down, picked up the oak Daglat star, then the small metal plate.

“This one? Ah. What about it?”

“Well, the thing is…” Kakzail clasped his hands together on the table and lowered his voice. “It turns out that it has the name ‘Ashig’ written in the ancient writing of the valley wizards and that… about eleven years ago, a family in the valley gave a very similar pendant to a newborn. Tell me… where did you get the pendant?”

This left me stunned for a moment. I had never thought that this little plate would matter to anyone but me… I stiffened.

“Look, I didn’t steal it, okay? This pendant, I’ve had it forever.”

“That may be,” Kakzail conceded. “Yalet Ferpades, your companion from yesterday, confirmed to me that you came from the valley.”

Seeing that the bearded man was not accusing me of theft, I thought about it and laughed.

“Thunders. You mean this pendant…? I mean… that this family in the valley is mine?”

Kakzail nodded calmly.

“If your name is Ashig.”

I bit my lip.

“Yeah, well, I’m not Ashig, actually. I’m Draen. I don’t remember anything from before,” I admitted.

“Nothing at all?” He shook his head thoughtfully. “Doesn’t the name Skrindwar mean anything to you? Samfen? Xella? Skelrog, perhaps?”

I looked at him, puzzled, and fidgeted in my chair.

“Are you kidding? Who are these people?”

“Your older brothers. You have nine siblings in total,” Kakzail clarified. “If you really are Ashig. Personally, I’d bet a siato it’s you. Listen. If you could just remember one detail about… the house you lived in or how you got lost…”

I squinted and shook my head in bewilderment.

“How did I get lost?” I repeated.

“You got lost,” Kakzail asserted. “And in the stupidest way possible. That is, I had already left home by that time, but Skrindwar told me. About five or six years ago, your parents decided to leave the village for Estergat, to help your uncles and try their luck… A few days before you left, your brother Samfen got sick, so your mother sent you to the next village for a jar of syrup. And you must have found something interesting on your way because you went off the path. And you got lost. They looked for you for days.”

I frowned. Six years… That matched up. But I couldn’t remember any of those names.

“Was it winter?” I inquired.

“Uh… Yes, yes, it was indeed winter,” Kakzail confirmed, and he looked at me with a slight puzzled smile. “Do you remember anything?”

“No,” I admitted quite frankly.

For a moment, I thought that the bearded man was telling me all this story to gain my trust and to get me to tell him where the alchemist was. Then I thought better of it and said to myself that making up something like that didn’t make sense. It just seemed that this family had lost a child of my own age in the valley six years ago, wearing a pendant with the same name… I made a face, muttered an imprecation, took my remaining doughnut, and continued to eat.

“If you could remember anything,” Kakzail resumed, “I could prove without a doubt who you are. And you could go meet them.”

That troubled me, but I continued to chew.

“Meet who?” I asked.

“Your parents, of course. They live in Estergat. I’ve already told them about all this, but at the moment, they seem skeptical. I showed them the pendant, and Mother admitted that it was most likely her son Ashig’s. Perhaps, if they see you, they will recognize you.”

I stared at him for a few seconds, motionless, then continued to chew, swallowed, took the last remaining bun, and, without thinking of hiding it, put it in my other pocket.

“What funny things,” I opined. “You’re telling me that I have parents and nine siblings here in Estergat, and that you’re… my older brother?”

I laughed incredulously at the thought. Kakzail cleared his throat, smiling.

“Stranger things happen in life,” he assured. “But… it’s not all wonderful. I must warn you. Your parents, as I was saying, are… unwilling, at the moment, to… well…” He cleared his throat again and launched into: “Yesterday afternoon, I wanted to be frank with them, and I showed them your prison release file with the annexes, the guards’ impressions of you, and everything… You shouldn’t be surprised if they are, as I said, reluctant to open their door to you.”

At first I didn’t understand what he meant by “reluctant to open their door to you”. Then I remembered what a family meant to those who had one with parents, brothers, and grandparents, and I understood. Kakzail meant that my supposed parents were reluctant to accept back a son who had been lost six years ago and had just been released from prison on charges of being an antisocial, violent person and had been on the verge of ending up in the charity house for vagrants. Who knows, maybe the guards had even reported my karuja addiction. Things could only get worse if Kakzail had told them about Warok’s murder, and with such a record, I would win the prize for being the most desirable son in Estergat.

I rolled my eyes, and guessing that this was going nowhere, I decided to move on.

“It doesn’t matter if they don’t open the door to me, I don’t care, don’t worry. I already have a family. By the way, thanks for lunch. It was delicious. And now… I can go, right?” The bearded man arched his eyebrows as I stood up, and I explained, “I’ve got some business, actually. Ah, I won’t forget I owe you one, you know. I’m an honest gwak. Anything you want, just ask.” As he didn’t say anything, I hesitated and said, “I’m leaving.”

“Wait a second,” Kakzail said then. “Sit down.”

I sighed and sat down obediently.

“I didn’t mean to scare you…”

“I’m not scared,” I assured, amused.

“Yes, but perhaps I didn’t put it quite right, frankly, I’m not at all the best person to talk about such matters,” Kakzail admitted, with an embarrassed pout. “All things considered, I too am a stray son, but—”

“What happened?” I interrupted him curiously. “Why did the Tassians make you a slave?”

Kakzail grimaced, and for a moment, he did not seem very willing to say anything. However, after taking a smograss leaf out of a small box and putting it in his mouth, he said:

“Because I was an idiot.” He shook his head, smiling. “You were barely two or three years old when Father sent me to Onkada as an apprentice. My master was… insufferable. So, after a year, I listened to some… friends of bad influence. And I ran away with them. I went wrong. When I was sixteen, I fell in with the Tassians, became a gladiator, met Sarpas… then I met Zoria,” he added with a small smile.

I grinned, dumbfounded.

“So Zoria is your lady?”

Gosh. I could imagine him liking the Blonde, but… the Blue One? Kakzail coughed softly.

“Well… My ‘lady’ is maybe a bit too early. Anyway, getting back to the topic at hand, when we escaped, we looked for Zoria and Zalen’s foster father. We arrived in Estergat just two moons ago. And I was quite surprised when I heard from Uncle Markyr that the whole family had moved here, with four new little siblings and all. They’re a wonderful family, really. They don’t have an easy life, and Father and Mother have their tempers, but… well… let’s just say that, as far as I’m concerned, they have their life, and I have mine. But for you it may be different. I just ask you not to give up on something so important… before you’ve even tried. If you find a steady and honest job and you can prove that you can be a ‘straight’ person as Father likes to say… they might accept you and help you. Anyway, a worker at Carnation explained to me that ideally, I would either pay for you to go to school or you’d have to get a job with a contract and everything, for reintegration and that sort of thing. I’m trying to help you, but my savings have already been cut to the bone this moon, I work all day, and… I can’t take care of you alone, you know? So… you have to make an effort.”

I blinked and nodded, lost in thought.

“Yes, yes. I understand. Natural. You have your stuff too. So… I have to get a job with a contract? And… what exactly is that?”

Kakzail rolled his eyes, pulled a paper from his pocket, and placed it on the table.

“You show this form to the people who want to hire you, they sign it, and you take it to the central police station. That’s all.”

I arched an eyebrow and was reaching for the form when the door opened and I suddenly saw a familiar face. He was wearing a top hat, was barefoot, and his eyes darted around the tables as if he were looking for something. He seemed to find what he was looking for: the innkeeper, on the other side of the room. He grimaced and was about to back away when I stood up and shouted:

“Prieeeest!”

I rushed over to him and reached him in a flash. Carried away by the emotion of seeing him like this again, up and about, I laughed as I gave him a strong hug and we did a full circle on ourselves before I let go and exclaimed:

“Good mother, I see you’re in good shape!”

Rogan laughed at my enthusiastic welcome.

“I see that you do too. I heard from Slaryn that you were released from the inn. And that those strange fellows had taken you away, to boot.” He glanced curiously at Kakzail, still sitting at the table with a meditative expression, then turned to the patroness, grinned, and took me by the shoulders to lead me out of the tavern, saying, “Manras and Dil are outside. Thunders!” he laughed. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve been praying for you, Sharpy! By the way!” he said, stopping dead in his tracks before the door. “I brought you a present too. Since you brought me so many in the summer… Look, look, what do you think?” He handed me a necklace of shells and small colored stones. I accepted it, dumbfounded, as he explained, “I picked them on the Shell Beach and tied them together with a string. Do you like it? Gee… I didn’t think you’d already have two necklaces,” he said, disappointed.

I smiled up to my ears and put it on immediately, still admiring it.

“Even if I had twenty, this one would be the best! So cool! Thank you, Priest.”

We exchanged merry smiles, and Rogan was about to open the door when I remembered Kakzail and said:

“Wait a sec. Wait for me outside. I’ll be right out.”

I returned to the bearded man’s table and declared proudly, gesturing vaguely towards the door:

“It’s the Priest, a great mate of mine. Did you see what he gave me? He made it himself. That guy’s amazing.” Still smiling, I took the form and added, “I’ll get a job. I swear by my ancestors. And, whenever you want, you show me this family and let it be according to the Spirits’ will. I’m off.”

Kakzail raised a hand to stop me.

“Uh… Wait. Take this: it’s the prison release booklet. Maybe you’ll need to show it. Most importantly, don’t do anything stupid, okay?” I rolled my eyes as I put the booklet in my pocket, and he added, “Yalet asked me to give you his new address. Here you go.” He handed me a small piece of paper where it said: Fairbank Pension, eight, Moon Street. I opened my mouth to thank him, but before I did, he stood up, clearing his throat, and asked, “I’d like you to come back here tonight.”

“Natural, it runs,” I agreed. “At seven o’clock on the dot I’ll be back here. Is that okay?”

Kakzail nodded slowly, looking overwhelmed.

“It’s okay. That’s good. One more thing. Couldn’t you… at least tell me where you’re going?”

I looked surprised.

“Where am I going? Well, I don’t know. How should I know? I’m going to see my cronies. Then we’ll see. In general, I’m going, that’s the main thing!” I laughed. “Thanks for the paper. And for the lunch. And for everything else. It’s been a pleasure, ayo!”

I walked out of there under the frown of the innkeeper, and once outside, the cold wind hit me, and I whistled.

“Good mother, so cold.” But I immediately forgot about the cold when, on the other side of the Avenue, I saw Manras and Dil. Rogan had already joined them. I trotted across the street and waved, “Ayo, ayo! The missing gwak is back. You don’t know how much I’ve learned in a moon and a half. Free market stuff, gravediggers, heretics, journalists, artists, master divers… I’ve even talked with foreigners. And a priest! Can you believe it, Rogan? He taught me some prayers. And I taught the companions some of the ones you taught me.”

“For real?” the Priest laughed.

“Yes, yes, for real and in Drionsan! I’ve blown them all away with everything I know. And they also amazed me. Let’s just say that even at the Conservatory you don’t learn that much in one moon,” I assured them. “And you, shyurs? By the way, have you had breakfast?” I added, taking the two small bread rolls out of my pockets.

As they accepted the bread with enthusiasm, they began to tell me what they had done during the fifty days I had spent at Carnation. Well, Dil nodded and smiled and grimaced more than he spoke, but Manras, as a good student of mine, talked like a patterer. Apparently, Rogan had stumbled upon them barely a day after the flies had nabbed me, he had taken it upon himself to warn Zoria and Zalen, and they had been meeting every night since then at a shelter in the Cat Quarter. Manras confessed that he had joined forces with the Diver, but that everything had changed two weeks ago.

“They pinched him?” I said, surprised and saddened.

“Yes and no, they nabbed him, he legged it and left the Rock,” Rogan explained.

“He said he was going to seek his fortune in Raiwania,” Manras added. “He asked me if I wanted to go with him. But I said no, that if I did, I might never come back. So he went off by himself.”

As they continued to tell me of various events, I thought how hectic the life of the gwak was. From town to town, from prison to prison, from street to street, from gang to gang, and from adventure to adventure… But when I came to think of it, so far everything had gone fairly well for me, and, to tell the truth, even if I did have parents and brothers, this was not going to change my life in the main: that as long as the flies did not force me behind bars again, I was not going to get away from my cronies or the Priest. That much was clear to me.

“Sharpy,” Rogan threw out then. “What’s that?”

He pointed to the form with his chin.

“Oh. A paper I have to get signed,” I explained. “Which reminds me, I have to go get a contract job. Didn’t you have to do the same thing when you got out of Carnation?”

Rogan rolled his eyes.

“Well, no. They sent me to the poorhouse, and there the ancestors opened a window and told me: go and fly. I beat my wings, and those exploiters haven’t seen me since. Let me see, let me see,” he added, taking my wounded left hand. “Hey, seems they haven’t changed the chores of the jail-bird.”

For fear that he would take my other hand, I shoved my hands into my pockets with the folded form. I said:

“Yeah, well, my hand’s a lot better now, believe me.” At his curious look, I added: “Where did you get that hat from?”

“Oh. It’s a long story,” Rogan admitted with a small smile. “It belonged to my grandmother, who gave it to her brother, who gave it to a friend, who lost it, a beggar picked it up, one day the wind blew it away, and the Patron Spirit gave it back to me.”

I laughed.

“Well, this hat has quite a history! Can I try it on?”

“No way!” Rogan gasped. I looked pleading, but he refused, while running a loving hand over the brim of his hat. “No, no, no. Who knows what dangers you’d be putting it through. If you take good care of the necklace for, say, two moons, maybe I’ll let you put the hat on for two seconds.”

“Stingy nail-pincher,” I said, giving him a friendly shove. His reaction reminded me a little of Yerris’ whenever I asked him to lend me his harmonica, and this made me think that I had nothing of real importance to me… except my cronies. The truth is, I felt relieved that, despite my absence, they both continued to treat me, I don’t know, like an older brother, maybe?

I nudged Dil’s head to brighten him up and threw:

“Guys! I’m freezing, let’s go up the street. What do you propose?”

Rogan pouted.

“Well… Actually, Sla asked us to tell you that, as soon as you can, you need to go to… the place you know. That’s all she said.”

I rolled my eyes. I was already imagining Korther waiting for me in the office with his purple stone and his surely very complimentary comments… I scratched my neck and gave a forced smile.

“Yeah… I’m taking note. Well, I’m sure it’s nothing urgent, eh, besides, one day more, one day less, who cares…” I cleared my throat. “Apart from that, what do you propose?”

12 The Swallow

I spent half the morning walking around Estergat with Manras, Dil, and the Priest. From time to time, I pretended to be looking for a job. I handed the form to a grinder who couldn’t read, to a lawyer who called me impertinent, to a secretary who told me he didn’t do that sort of thing, and to a nail-pincher lady who passed by without stopping.

“If you like, I’ll sign it for you,” Rogan chuckled, as we sat down on the Capitol steps to rest. “You fill out the form for me as I tell you, and I’ll hire you as an altar boy, and we’ll recite to the audience a good prayer I know. With your bardic skills and my acting skills…we’d make a fortune!”

I sighed.

“If only I could.” I paused and made a decision. “All right, that’s enough. I’m going to take things seriously. I don’t want to disappoint Kakzail.”

“Because he’s your brother?” Rogan asked.

I had told the three of them the story of the pendant, trying not to give it much importance. And Manras, disillusioned with life by his own family, had not paid any attention to it, but Dil had remained thoughtful, and that had inspired the Priest to say several sentences about providence, fate, and the family union. I replied:

“No. Because he treated me well. That’s why, that’s all. And because they might send me to the poorhouse if I don’t fill this out.”

“As if the flies would bother looking for you,” Rogan scoffed.

I shrugged and stood up.

“I’m going.”

“Where?” Dil inquired.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But my paper will be filled before this night. I bet a fivenail.”

“I’ll take the bet,” Rogan said. “Good luck! And don’t throw rocks against the windows!”

I huffed, amused, greeted them, assured Manras that this time I would not go away for a moon, and left. I went from refusal to refusal. I entered all the shops in the Grand Gallery before passing through the market stalls, whose owners refused to sign any contract. I thought of Farigo, remembered what he’d told me about the Menshaldra spinning mills, and wanted to try my luck, but when I thought that I’d have to go all the way across the city to do it, I got lazy. I prowled around reading the job advertisements, I asked a mason for a job, but they told me I was too small. Good mother… and then they said that we gwaks were lazy!

“Hooray for the worker’s world,” I muttered in disappointment.

Noon had already come and gone, and I was walking down a narrow street in the northern part of Tarmil, already thinking of resigning myself and going to see Korther or Yal—more the latter than the former, in fact—when I saw a very proper nail-pincher, with a top hat, a pipe, and shiny shoes, emerge from a porch. It was drizzling, so he hurriedly unfolded his black umbrella, and as he did so, his wallet fell to the ground. I looked at him, waiting for him to bend down and pick it up, but he didn’t even notice. Then I said to myself: Priest, this is my day of redemption. And I shouted:

“Sir, sir! You dropped something.”

I was careful not to approach him, I didn’t want him to think that I had tried to steal it. The man saw that the wallet was indeed his. He picked it up and said:

“Oh, my.”

He turned his back on me, and I smiled slightly, feeling my heart as pure as a saint’s. I had resumed my wandering when a voice called me. It was the man of the wallet. He handed me a bill.

“I’m so deep in thought, I forgot to thank you. Here.”

I walked over and looked at the piece of paper, my mouth agape. It was a one siato bill.

“For real?” I blurted out. Before he could answer, I took the bill and examined it. There was a face in profile drawn on it. “Who is it?”

“Holy Lights, it’s the great Stirxis Fiedman, the one who created our Parliament in four-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty-two,” the grizzled man replied in an indulgent tone.

“Do all the bills have pictures on them?” I asked in a casual tone.

“Of course,” the kindly gentleman replied. “The one of ten siatos represents the Great Temple and the one of five represents the Unicorn of Goodness. See?”

He showed me the two bills, and I opened my eyes wide in amazement.

“Oh! That’s a unicorn? I didn’t know they were real.”

He laughed, as if I had said something funny. I looked at him carefully. He looked friendly. I would have bet a fivenail that if I had asked him for the bill with the Great Temple he would have given it to me. But I was in my holy gwak phase, so I behaved like a gentleman and said:

“It’s not very fair that you should give me this bill, sir. I’d settle for something more reasonable.” The nobleman looked at me with a surprised look on his face, and, praying that he would not send me chasing the clouds, I added, very politely, “You see, sir. Don’t they say: give a man a partridge and he’ll eat for a day, give him a bow and he’ll eat everyday? Well, you see, I’m looking for a job, and it would help me a lot if you’d sign this paper. Just by filling this out, you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Someone else, on hearing this, would have frowned and sent me to hell. But this wonderful nail-pincher, who exuded so much sympathy and generosity, took an interest in the reintegration form, glanced at it, pouted, and said:

“Ah. Oh. I understand. I can’t fill this out, but… I’ll give you a letter of recommendation. Maybe then you’ll be able to get a job. That’s all I can do.”

And that was more than I expected. I smiled broadly, and he showed me into his house—a nicely furnished house, with some vase which must have been worth as much as the one I had broken at the Hostel. It was quite a test of heroism for me to keep my hands together. I did not touch the watch on the shelf, nor the fine handkerchief left in a basket, nor the gold coin which shone beautifully on the desk in the sitting-room where the man sat. As he prepared his quill and inkstand, I said:

“You’ve got quite a house, sir! This thing must be worth a fortune. Good mother, what a pretty picture! I knew a painter who painted my portrait once. He painted all kind of weird things… You don’t know how grateful I am to you for writing me this letter of recommendation. You can have the best intentions in the world, but sometimes, if you don’t have a little push, even if you shout, nobody listens…”

As I chatted, I took the opportunity to warm up and rub my cold hand. The nail-pincher smiled understandingly at me. He was already dipping the quill into the inkwell when a young blond elf in a servant’s uniform appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a feather duster in hand, and when he saw me he frowned.

“Mothers of the Light!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Sardra, what exactly is this poor wretch doing here? By any chance, you’re not bequeathing the house to him, are you?” he threw out in a sardonic tone.

Mr. Sardra laughed.

“Holy Spirits, no, Rimys. I’m just writing him a letter of recommendation.”

“Oh? And what has this candid spirit done to deserve such generosity?”

Rimys looked at me, obviously anxious for me to get out of here as soon as possible. I gave him an innocent pout, but it turned into an irrepressible smile when I saw that Mr. Sardra was actually starting to write the letter. He replied:

“He saved me from losing my papers, the concert invitation, the lottery ticket, and one hundred and fifty siatos.”

At that moment my smile froze. One hundred and fifty, I repeated to myself. One hundred and fifty siatos, and poor me had just decided to play the saint. Under my breath, I murmured a:

“Blasthell.”

After asking me my name, Mr. Sardra wanted to know if I already had someone in mind to address the letter of recommendation, to which I replied, on the fly, that he address it to the Swallow Company of Messengers and that he add that I already had experience as a messenger, that I had worked for almost a year for a certain Miroki Fal.

“Miroki Fal!” Mr. Sardra exclaimed, amazed. “Is that so?”

“I swear it on my ancestors.” And so that there would be no doubt left in his mind, I added details: “I worked with Rux, his butler. Mister Fal finished his studies at the Conservatory in the spring and left for Griada with his family. So I found myself without a job. But I have experience.”

If you could call it an experience to carry flowers and romantic letters to Miroki’s beloved, I added mentally. The nail-pincher shook his head.

“And he didn’t leave you any kind of recommendation or anything?”

He seemed indignant. Like a good servant, I defended my former master:

“Oh, it’s not his fault, sir. The last few days he had other more important matters on his mind and he was very preoccupied.”

I did not mention that he had tried to commit suicide and that I had saved his life. I would have looked like a hero, but maybe the nail-pincher wouldn’t have believed me, and everything would have fallen apart.

Without further questioning, Mr. Sardra wrote quickly but elegantly, signed, sealed the letter, and handed it to me.

“I hope that’s enough.”

I smiled broadly.

“Natural. Thank you, Mr. Sardra. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

I bowed like a little gentleman, gave Rimys a mocking pout, and went out. The great Mr. Sardra had not even noticed that I had not given him back the one siato bill. But what was a siato to him, eh? I ran straight to a clothes shop on Tarmil Avenue, where I bought a plain shirt without holes. I put it on over the other one and, thus adorned, ran up the street to the central office of the Messengers. In the morning, I had seen a job advertisement, and I rejoiced when I saw that the paper was still stuck to the wall.

I passed three messengers of about fifteen years of age, who were resting at the entrance of a dead end, chewing smograss. I looked at them cheekily. They were wearing uniforms and caps with a number on each side and the letters of ‘THE SWALLOW’ written large. I smiled to myself. When Manras saw me dressed like that, he was going to be blown away. I walked into the office and saw an employee sitting behind a desk covered with papers. As he didn’t notice me, I said loudly:

“Hello! I’m here because of the ad. I’m looking for a job. And I have a letter of recommendation from Mr. Sardra.”

I didn’t know whether my benefactor was known, but I took on the tone of one who says: Have you seen the important friends I have? Nevertheless, the clerk gave me a sceptical expression, which he only removed when he compared the name on the letter with the name on my prison release booklet. After a moment’s hesitation, he sent me to the office manager, who scrutinized me, sat me down, and asked me why I thought I was going to be a good messenger and all that sort of thing. I answered as well as I could. He checked that I could really read, he made me do some arithmetic exercises, he probed me about my knowledge of the streets, and he was pleasantly surprised at my great knowledge of the subject. Finally, he asked me:

“So you’re willing to work hard?”

“Yes, sir!”

Seeing me so motivated, the manager could not help but smile. He explained to me in more detail what a messenger’s duties were, and warned me of all the things a messenger should not do, and I listened attentively, realizing that all this was not going to be as simple as taking flowers to Lesabeth.

Finally, the director hired me, he nimbly got up from his chair, opened the door, and called:

“Yum!”

He waited a few seconds and pouted.

“Kid. You see that door over there? That’s the messenger room. There you can rest during downtime… Ah,” he then said with satisfaction. The said door had just opened, and a dark elf with silver hair and prominent green eyes appeared. It was one of the three messengers I had seen when I entered.

“You called me, boss?”

“Yes. This is Draen, he’s new, and I’d like you to brief him for a few hours. He will start the service tomorrow.”

Yum nodded, glanced at me, and smiled.

“Sure. I’ll take him right away.”

“Good,” the director approved. “First, take him to Dermen, so he can choose a uniform that fits.” He patted my shoulder. “I hope you don’t disappoint us, Draen Hilemplert.”

A little intimidated, I nodded, and Yum guided me without a word to this fellow called Dermen, who had me try on a uniform, assigned me a cap with the number forty-two, and was in the process of explaining that I should take care of the uniform when the clerk called out:

“Boys! An urgent magigram just came in!”

Yum, who was yawning as he heard Dermen’s instructions, gasped and threw out:

“Follow me, kiddo.”

I still had the cap on my head, and I would have liked to leave with it, but Dermen took it off me.

“You’re not on duty yet,” he reminded me.

I rolled my eyes and followed Yum with great curiosity. I saw him accept a note and a few more messages from the clerk, and I followed him outside. I knew that magigrams were almost instant messages sent through powerful magaras from places as far away as Kitra or Veliria. Miroki Fal had sent me more than once to deliver such messages to the Swallow last year. But I had never gone the other way.

Yum did not let me ask where we were going: the young dark elf ran off down the street, and I followed him without saying a word. Incredibly, after fifteen minutes, I was panting and had to try hard not to lose sight of Yum. He went to the Stock Exchange to deliver the magigram, and as I entered the building, the memory of the Wada made me unconsciously look up at the place where the jewelled figure once stood. I let out a startled gasp when I saw it hanging there in all its splendour. What was the Wada doing there?

A fat financier heading for the exit pushed me “unintentionally” with that nail-pincher habit of not seeing others, and I almost fell. Yum took me by the arm.

“Are you in the clouds, newbie?” he threw at me. Apparently, the messenger had already handed over the magigram. “This is your first time in the Stock Exchange, right?” he inquired. “Hey! Answer.”

I shook my head.

“No. I mean… Yes. It looks like it,” I muttered, looking up at the Wada again with troubled eyes.

It was as if I had dreamed that winter night when I had entered through the dome, tied to a rope. Then I realized that I was not giving Yum a very positive impression of myself, and I said:

“Sorry. It’s the emotion. Of getting this job. Are there many messages left?”

“Five. I thought I’d deliver them in two hours, but at this rate, we’re going to need all afternoon. How come they took you if you can’t even run?” he asked.

I shrugged without taking offense.

“I could. The thing is… I’ve been sick. Don’t worry, you go ahead and run, I’ll follow you.”

Yum gave me a skeptical look.

“Sick, huh?”

With surprising speed he reached into my pocket and withdrew the form which the boss had filled out for me. I restrained myself from holding on to it so as not to tear it up and protested:

“Give me that back!”

He held up the paper and read in a herald’s voice as if he wanted all the nail-pinchers present to hear:

“Reintegration record of eleven-year-old Draen Hilemplert, who served his sentence on the first Thunderday of Squalls after being sentenced to fifty days for assault with violen…”

Gradually, he lowered his voice, more and more amazed, and finally, he fell silent, perhaps surprised that I did not protest more. I looked into his eyes, silent. He made an embarrassed pout and handed me back the sheet of paper. I folded it impassively and said dryly:

“Thank you.”

Yum cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t imagine that. Really, it just bothered me that you kept lying to me, that’s all. We’d better go deliver those messages… Say, what exactly does ‘assault with violence’ mean?”

For a moment, I was tempted to tell him that I had robbed a bank with a dagger in my hand. But I thought better of it, and as we left the Stock Exchange, I told him of the incident with the coachman. Yum was clearly relieved to know that his new companion was not a dangerous criminal but merely an impulsive boy. After that, I spent a pleasant afternoon. Yum taught me the tricks of the messenger, I listened attentively to him, helped him calculate the prices for each message he accepted on the way, and as it was already getting dark we stopped in front of the office, and he said:

“Well, you already know the basics. You just have to learn how to deal with customers. And not to get too stressed out when they push you around!” he observed wisely. “Well, I’ll keep working. If I were you, I’d go home. You look tired. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the company. You’ll see, they are all nice guys. Some are more serious than others. I’m one of those who pretend to be serious. That’s why the boss calls me whenever there’s something to do. I even walk his dogs in the morning. As if, in addition to being a messenger, I’m the house handyman,” he said with a smile. “By the way, aren’t you interested in walking the boss’s dogs on Sacreddays? You know, I take my little sisters to the temple on those days. He pays six nails for a one-hour walk.”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“No, no. I don’t really like dogs.”

“Is that so?” Yum looked surprised. “Well. I’ll find someone else then. Good evening!”

“Good evening and thank you!” I said.

In the end, I had the impression that I was going to like this job. At least for a while.

As it was only an hour to seven and I had promised Kakzail that I would be back at The Ballerinas by seven o’clock, I just left the form at the central station and dragged my feet to the tavern. I didn’t see Kakzail or any of his companions, and so that the tavern-keeper wouldn’t kick me out, I ordered a meal and paid with the money I had left over from my one siato bill. I was just finishing my dinner when suddenly someone sat down in front of me, and I looked up, startled.

“Yal!”

My master immediately said to me in a low voice:

“What the hell are you doing, Mor-eldal? Korther has been waiting for you at the Hostel all morning. This morning he wanted to pull you by the ears, but I think now he’s at the stage of wanting to wring your neck. He told me that story about the purple orb. I’ve rarely seen him so agitated.”

He paused, looked at me with a questioning face, and I replied hastily:

“I was planning to go, really, but between one thing and another… It’s that I got a job.”

Yalet shook his head in surprise.

“A job? In one day?”

“Yeah, messenger of the Swallow,” I announced.

Yal smiled as I straightened up proudly.

“Congrats. Anyway, I’m afraid Korther will not give a damn about that,” he warned me. “He’s convinced those two foreigners are in Estergat. He’s been looking for them for a week. And he wants you to translate.”

I sighed and nodded, pushing the empty plate away.

“It’s okay, it runs, I’m going. But I promised Kakzail I’d be here at seven o’clock sharp…”

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” Yal assured. “He left you my address, didn’t he? And… did you speak with him?”

I could tell by his expression that he already knew about the family and the pendant. I shrugged.

“Yes.”

Yal looked at me and gave a smiling pout.

“Well. Do you know that now I am working as a secretary at the Capitol? Not an exciting job, but I have a good salary, and I could even afford a closer place to live; but to tell the truth, for the time being, the boarding-house where I stay at suits me just fine. If you like, you can come and sleep there. The landlady is not as much of a nuisance as the one at the Darguet House. As long as there is no racket, she lets whole families into her convent.”

I opened my eyes wide, not quite sure I understood.

“You mean… I can take my cronies there?”

Yal pouted.

“Well. I saw them once. They seem like nice kids. As long as they don’t make a racket…”

“They’ll be silent as rocks!” I assured, moved. “Wow, that’s so nice, Yal!”

My master laughed.

“Yes, well. I’ve come to understand that, without them, you wouldn’t even stay in a prince’s house.”

I bit my lip, smiling.

“You’re dead round. And… what about Rogan? Can he come too? Just him. Just him and my cronies. He’s not just a nice person: he’s a saint. Look, he gave me this,” I said, showing him the shell necklace. “Pretty, isn’t it? And, well, he doesn’t make a fuss, he’s very quiet.”

Yal moistened his lips.

“It’s okay,” he finally relented. “But not one more. The room’s pretty small. And, if you wake me in the middle of the night, I’ll throw you all out. Now, go to Korther, or he’ll wring your neck for good.”

I nodded and rose to my feet, still excited at the thought of taking my little gang to my master. I hesitated, then declared firmly:

“I love you, Elassar. Ayo!”

I saw him smile, amused, before I turned my back on him and strode out of the tavern, heading for the Hostel. In truth, I approached the Black Dagger’s guild with apprehension, but also with curiosity. I was anxious to know if Shokinori and Yabir were really in Estergat. Besides, I remembered Alvon had given me a message for the kap. And, as the new Messenger of Estergat, I couldn’t possibly forget to deliver it.

13 Breakdown in the Ravines

The street was deserted. I entered the dead end and knocked on the door. I waited. After a few moments, I heard the latch being removed, and the door opened.

“Come in.”

It was Korther’s voice. I did not take time to interpret its tone: I entered and stood for a moment in awe. There were four people in the room. Korther was sitting in his chair by the fireplace; Aberyl was leaning against a wall, his blue muffler pulled up to hide his face; Yerris was sitting at the table; and Rolg was standing by the door. I looked at the old elf with bewildered eyes as he closed the latch. I didn’t expect to see him there, and so… different. Like, he looked healthier. Finally, I blurted out in disbelief:

“Rolg! I didn’t know you were back.”

The demon elf smiled, but Korther didn’t let him answer.

“Indeed,” the elfocan said briskly, “who would have thought that he would return before you. Come here, lad.”

I gave them all another look as I approached the Black Dagger kap. I stopped by the chair, and under Korther’s watchful reptilian eyes, said quietly:

“Ayo.”

“Hmm,” Korther muttered. “Took you a while to find your way back to the Hostel. I bet it was Yal who jogged your memory.” I thought it prudent not to answer. “Hold your hand out,” he added.

I held out my right hand, and he placed the purple stone in my palm. Immediately, I felt the energy of the magara.

“As soon as you hear something, you translate out loud. Sit there.”

The kap’s voice, though not gruff, was authoritative. I nodded quickly and backed away to the table, focusing my attention on the stone. I heard a faint, indefinable hissing sound through it, and then there was silence. I sat up, glanced at Yerris, and frowned in surprise. The half-gnome held his head in both hands, and his eyes seemed to be lost.

“Yerris?” I whispered.

I reached out my hand, and as soon as I touched the Black Cat’s arm, he jumped abruptly without turning his head and breathed out:

“Shyur… H-how are you?”

I arched an eyebrow in concern.

“Uh… I’m fine now that I’m free. How about you? You look strange. You know I ran into your master at Carnation? He asked me to tell Korther that you weren’t guilty. But I don’t know what he was talking about.”

I saw Korther slightly start, and I turned to him. His annoyed expression left me even more troubled. I looked at them all with concern.

“What’s going on?”

“Did Al really say I wasn’t guilty?” Yerris gasped.

I swallowed and nodded, but I had the feeling that Yerris did not see my nod.

“Yes. That’s what he said. Right before he escaped. What’s going on?” I repeated.

There was a silence. Aberyl was in a pensive pose, Korther had resumed reading a book he had on his lap, and to my disappointment, Rolg had walked out of the room, to do who knows what. Still not looking at me, Yerris sighed.

“If only you knew. Last week, the alchemist thought he’d found a cure. I tested it. And it pretty much worked. I still need sokwata, but my body makes it on its own, from what Mr. Wayam said. However… not everything went well.”

As I was absorbing the meaning of his words with amazement, I suddenly heard through the stone:

“I think we’ve gone far enough.”

It was Shokinori. However, I didn’t say anything, I pretended not to have heard, and I didn’t even look down at the purple stone. Stunned, I stared at Yerris, then passed my left hand in front of his eyes, and let out a hiccup.

“Good mother… you can’t see me?”

Yerris winced and shook his head.

“Neither you nor anyone else: it’s as if I had a constant red veil before my eyes. If at least I hadn’t lost my harmonica on the journey, I could do something else than sit around thinking…” He shook his head again, looking as if he were laughing at himself, and after a slight hesitation he added, “But that’s not the worst of it. The worst part is that sometimes… I lose track and can’t even think. The alchemist says he’ll help me and find another cure… He promised me he will. So don’t worry. Everything will work out,” he said with a smile that didn’t seem very confident to me. He paused. “So… did you really meet Al at Carnation? How did it go for you there, shyur?”

I shrugged, remembered that he couldn’t see me, and replied:

“So-so.” I shook my head and croaked, altered, “Geez, is that alchemist messing with us or what? He mutates us, he blinds us, he only does bad things to us… Hell, he’ll end up killing us, I swear.”

“Hey, hey, relax, shyur,” Yerris replied. He fumbled and grabbed my hand. He squeezed it hard. “Don’t worry. I was the one who volunteered. And I’ll volunteer for the next times. When Mr. Wayam finds the right cure, we’ll give it to you all. And we won’t talk about the sokwata or this whole nightmare ever again… Believe me.”

I looked at him, speechless. I didn’t know what to say to him. Thanks for sacrificing yourself? Are you completely insane? I also wanted to ask him if he really believed that the alchemist would find something in the next twenty years. Finally, I whispered:

“I believe you.”

The Priest used to say that faith moved mountains…well, I hoped it would activate the alchemist’s brain as well. I cleared my throat, and after a silence, I said:

“Shokinori and Yabir are on their way out of Estergat.”

It was like a detonator. Korther leapt to his feet, abandoning his book, and asked:

“Where?”

Under his impatient gaze, I hastened to say all that I had heard and could make out while Yerris spoke to me:

“They’re going along a forest. They say they’re going to do some calculations to locate the stone.”

Korther exchanged a glance with Aberyl and muttered:

“The Crypt.”

It was the only forest in the vicinity. Korther grabbed his cloak and said in an energetic tone:

“Draen: you will come with me. Ab, follow us from a distance. Rolg, stay with Yerris.” The old elf had returned to the room and nodded calmly. I saw Korther hastily check his pockets then his daggers, one hidden in one boot, one in his sleeve; finally, he added, “Let’s go.”

I didn’t ask any questions, I didn’t even stop to think, in fact: everything was happening too fast. I murmured, “Ayo, Black Cat…” And the kap, Aberyl, and I went out into the night.

Aberyl quickly fell behind as we made our way through the dark alleys. We walked down along the Timid River to the Hippodrome and to the Estergat River. The Gem and the Moon in the sky were not full, but they still lit our way sufficiently. We crossed the Black Bridge behind a band of rather drunken youths, and as soon as we got away from the factories, we turned right, directly towards the Crypt. We still had a good hour to reach the edge. As we passed vegetable gardens and wasteland, Korther asked me:

“What are they saying?”

This was the third time he had asked me this question. I sighed and replied:

“Well… I don’t know, I can’t hear them very well. They’re talking about I don’t know what triangle. Shokinori accuses Yabir of being a klutz. And Yabir admits that he’s not very skilled but asks Shokinori to respect him a bit; he says that he’s not just anyone, and that, besides, the bond is weakening, that he’s not a hero. He also says that, if they’d learned the language of the Surface better, it’d have spared them a lot of trouble. And—”

“Any clue as to their whereabouts?” Korther interrupted.

I cleared my throat and confessed:

“No. I only heard them talking about the trees.”

“Trees,” the kap repeated, slowing slightly. “Did they only say ‘trees’? Because, you know, trees are all over the place, lad: not all trees grow in a forest.”

“I’m pretty sure of it,” I assured. “At one point I heard an owl. Well, I think it was an owl,” I qualified.

In the darkness, I could see Korther’s penetrating gaze.

“If we don’t find those Undergrounders tonight, lad, I’m going to be very disappointed with you. So pay close attention to the stone and quicken your pace.”

I was doing what I could, but I had been running all afternoon and my legs were feeling the strain. We were crossing the White Road that bordered the eastern part of the forest when I heard a word and said with a touch of excitement:

“Shokinori said something about a hill. They must be climbing the Ravines!”

Korther glanced at the path, then at the dark trail that climbed up along the edge next to the Ravines. He gestured and called in a low voice:

“Ab. Follow us through the forest.”

As soon as we were out of sight from any sajits, the hooded Black Dagger had followed us more closely. I saw him move forward and nod.

“Be careful, Kor,” he said. “These Underground people have a different culture. They are said to draw the sword to say good morning.”

“Then I’ll pull out my daggers to give their greeting back,” Korther replied mockingly. “Let’s not waste time.”

We resumed walking, following the path upwards; after a silence, I inquired curiously:

“What are we going to do when we give them the stone back?”

Korther slowed down slightly.

“Mm. For that, I’d have to find myself willing to give it back to them, lad. First the introductions, then the negotiations, and then the agreement. If all goes well,” he observed. “And now: silence.”

I bit my lip but still dared to say:

“This afternoon, I saw the Wada at the Stock Exchange. Isn’t that unbelievable?”

I heard Korther’s soft gasp.

“No, lad. It’s perfectly normal. Sometimes, a Black Dagger has to know how to steal temporarily. And now, seriously: one more word and I’ll abandon you in the middle of the forest, gagged and hands bound, is that clear?”

I nodded, not daring to open my mouth. It runs, it runs, I thought with a sigh. In any case, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the thought of having stolen perhaps Estergat’s most valuable item and then returned it as if nothing had happened.

The path narrowed, and the kap led the way. So Korther intended to return the relic to the Undergrounders in exchange for something. Money? Information? I didn’t care as long as he didn’t keep me here all night to act as his interpreter.

We had been climbing the Ravines for a short while when I felt a sudden energy vibration, took a deep breath in surprise, and the purple stone slipped out of my grasp. I stifled a curse, and as Korther was walking a few steps ahead, I hurriedly bent down to retrieve the stone before he turned his head and noticed anything. With my sokwata eyes, I found it, dangerously close to the fall of the ravine, touched it, and… let out a strangled cry as I received a sharp shock. I threw myself to the ground, shaking with nervous spasms.

Fortunately, Korther came back quickly and prevented me from throwing myself into the ravine. But the stone… Good Mother, where was the stone…? Korther shook me.

“Hey, boy! Are you alright? What happened?” he inquired in a worried voice.

I did not answer immediately. When I had calmed down, he helped me to my feet. However, anticipating a coming outburst, I hurriedly retreated to the forest and grabbed onto a trunk, saying:

“Don’t beat me! I didn’t do it on purpose! It slipped out of my hands!”

Then Korther understood the catastrophe. And to his credit, he did not shout at me. He looked at the ravine and said:

“Go search for it.”

When I did not immediately obey, he forcibly separated me from the trunk, snorting and insisting:

“At once. It can’t have fallen very far with all those rocks.”

I approached, apprehensive. The ravine was steep, but it was not as vertical as I thought, nor as deep as other places closer to the mines. I began to descend and cast perceptive spells left and right, using up most of my energy stem. I reached the bottom and searched between the bushes, opening my eyes wide, as if I could gain a sixth sense that would help me find the purple stone. I had just grabbed onto a root to climb back up the ravine when I suddenly saw something shoot a spark of energy just inches from my hand. The stone. I breathed a sigh of relief, picked it up, and, feeling an intense energy flow through my body, I hurriedly put the relic in my pocket.

“You crazy rock,” I muttered. And it really seemed that the stone had gone mad: even when stuffed in my pocket, it was shooting electric shocks at me.

Then I heard a voice whistling in Caeldric:

“Dakis, catch!”

For a moment, I stood still, and that for several reasons. First, because the voice I had heard was undoubtedly Shokinori’s. Second, because I had just heard a deep growl. And third, because I knew that the growl could only have come from a wolf or a dog or… something big, anyway. When I saw the great quadrupedal form rushing at me, panic came over me. I dropped the root and ran in the opposite direction from where Shokinori’s voice had come from. I didn’t have much hope. Down there were tall bushes, but no trees, so I could hardly climb anything. And I knew well that dogs had as good a nose as lynxes. So when I felt a tremendous force throw me to the ground at once, I was not surprised. Nor was I frightened. My fear was already beyond that of death. I rolled to the ground and soon found myself on my back with the beast upon me. Its snarls made me relive the attack of the seven dogs of Adoya, and not wishing to experience my own death, I escaped to the valley.

I was lying next to my master, gazing at the stars. The sky was so starry that it looked like a stream of pearls.

“Is it not a wonderful sight, Mor-eldal?” my master asked serenely. “Ah, a shooting star! Did you see it?”

Disappointment washed over me, and I confessed:

“I didn’t.”

All I could see were two big black eyes and stars in the shape of fangs.

“You have to pay attention,” my master said with a smile.

He was not really smiling: it was his sparkling green eyes that were smiling. They turned to me for a moment and then resumed their stargazing.

“It’s very important to know where you’re looking,” he continued. “Because they are so fleeting that they appear and disappear faster than squirrels.”

At that moment, I saw a light rip through the starry sky and I smiled as I raised my index finger.

“There, I saw one, Elassar! It was a shooting star.”

Suddenly I felt the earth begin to shake violently, and I cowered… A branch fell on me and prevented me from moving. I struggled, but the branch was too heavy. I shouted:

“Elassaaaar!”

This time, something fell into my mouth and silenced me. It seemed to me as if a shooting star had lodged there and silenced me on purpose; as my master used to say, the stars were the ladies of silence. Then I wondered what the blasthell was happening to me, just as I heard Yabir’s voice say:

“He speaks our language, Shok. What do we do?”

There was silence, and for a flash, I saw two hooded figures through the branch and the stars of the valley, one kneeling beside me, the other holding the huge wolf by the neck. One part of my mind was telling me to get up and run away. The other, more reasonable, told me that it was useless to try to escape from such a beast. And another, the one that prevailed, was busy creating harmonic illusions to see, feel, or hear only the valley wind, the nocturnal owl, and the soothing voice of my master. But, in spite of myself, I kept hearing the grunts.

“We have the stone,” Shokinori said. “To take the boy with us would be madness. Come on, Yabir: up the ravine there are people. They were probably coming with the boy, and they must have heard him screaming. Let’s get out of here before things get complicated.”

“I can’t help but think that he would be a great help to us, Shokinori,” Yabir protested. “Besides, it’s no accident that this boy speaks our language. Can’t you see it? For a thousand manticores! The people who found the relic must have figured out how it activated and listened through it using the boy… Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not that implausible. Think about it. Why else would they be walking around here? Because they were looking for us!”

His words were lost, muffled by those of my nakrus master, who was now telling me of the number of bones which rabbits had. Suddenly, I felt myself begin to fly, and I saw a yarack with multicolored feathers pass over me and say:

“Let’s go!”

I flew close to him and felt myself being carried away by a confused whirlwind intermingled with the dog’s guttural breathing.

“Dakis says they’re coming after us, Yabir,” Shokinori hissed. “That boy is in shock or something, but he’s not going to cooperate, and I remind you that neither of us are giants… Let’s just leave him and get the hell out of here. Don’t be an idiot.”

My flight stopped abruptly, and I heard a grunt.

“Idiot, idiot… It didn’t seem such an idiotic idea to me, though.”

“Run.”

The footsteps faded away, as did the dog’s presence, and I curled up, trying to figure out why… why I was having these harmonic fits that I couldn’t control. It was all because of Adoya’s dogs. I managed to more or less undo the harmonies that populated the area right in front of my eyes, and when I heard more footsteps approaching at a run, I rolled onto the ground and hid under a bush. It was Aberyl and Korther for sure. But, blasthell, I didn’t want them to see me. Not after Shokinori and Yabir had stolen the purple orb from me and disappeared, devils knew where.

I saw a harmonic light illuminating the place where I had been a moment earlier and heard Korther say:

“They’ve been here. Damn it. Ab, try to track them down.”

The other Black Dagger moved away, but the light remained. Through the bushy thicket, I saw Korther bend over, and I saw his hand follow a line…

“I’ll wring your neck, lad,” he muttered. “Come out.”

I froze. After a few seconds of deep silence, I realized that I had no other option than to answer him, and I protested:

“It’s not my fault. They had a very large dog—”

“Come out!” Korther ordered.

And he did so in such a dry voice that it gave me goose bumps, and I thought that he really meant to wring my neck. I tried to go round the bush as quietly as possible, and got up, and ran away. But Korther must have foreseen my trick because he was prepared. He reacted quickly and grabbed me by the wrist. And I did what probably no good sari should ever have done, I kicked him in the shin and shouted:

“Let go of me!”

I received a slap that left my cheek on fire, followed by a hold that left me in the same position as before with the wolf. Except that this time it was the Black Daggers’ kap that was holding me down. And he was furious. Noticing that I wasn’t really struggling anymore and that I was just covering my face with an arm to prevent any hypothetical blow, Korther hissed:

“First you throw the relic into the ravine, then you let the Undergrounders steal from you, and then you hide, and to make matters worse, you try to run away and kick me? We’re off to a bad start!”

He forced my arm away so I could look him in the eye and said:

“I’m not used to losing my temper. But you’re really going to make me lose it, little rascal. And I wouldn’t advise you to be near me that day. That relic meant a lot to me: it meant that I would finally be able to speak directly with these Undergrounders. Whether we lose their trail or not, you’re going to have to pay for this, lad, and very dearly. And, by the way, the next time a Black Dagger tells you I want to see you, don’t be late. If you want to be a Black Dagger for good and not get into trouble in Estergat, lad, you’re going to have to learn not to act rashly.”

The kap’s words hurt as much as they frightened me. In the end, maybe my nakrus master was right whenever he told me, ‘If only you’d think before you act, Mor-eldal’. Then Korther added in an imperative tone:

“Don’t move from here.”

I let out a gasp as he released me, and whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

But Korther was already leaving, and he did not answer. Perhaps he didn’t even hear me. When I saw him disappear between the dense bushes, I swallowed and stood up. After a long silence, I muttered:

“Thunders, storms, and blasthell. Blasthell. And… blasthell,” I repeated.

I pulled my sleeve over my eyes, massaged my sore cheek, and gritted my teeth. Sometimes, I wished Rolg hadn’t noticed me that spring day in the Grey Square. I began to walk with determination. No more Black Daggers, I thought. It’s all over. Did I ask Korther to give me a job? No. He had wanted to use me because I spoke Caeldric, and without me, he wouldn’t have been able to locate Shokinori and Yabir. Was it my fault that I couldn’t run as fast as a wolf?

“To hell with it,” I grumbled.

Thinking again of the wolf, and assuming that if Korther and Aberyl found Shokinori and Yabir, they would come for me to interpret for them, I quickened my pace and moved almost at a run between the darkened shrubs. I left the shrubbery behind me, went down the hill, through an area full of coal mounds and carts, and came to the Canals.

By the time I reached the Cat Quarter, I had fully recovered from my misadventure. Or almost. I looked for the shelter Rogan had told me about. Even though I had wandered the Labyrinth many times before, each time I entered it I passed through alleys I had never used before, climbed stairs and ladders, walked through unfamiliar passages, and almost instinctively avoided others where shadows and awake figures could be seen.

At last, I came to what the Priest had introduced to me as the Staircase: a wooden stairway that led up to some place near the Wool Square, and which housed a good dozen gwaks. The gap between the wall and the stairs was not very wide, but wide enough to pass through. I slipped underneath and, unable to see in such darkness, nearly stepped on something alive. There was no reaction to my arrival from the gwaks, they were all fast asleep. I managed to find a corner near what I deduced must be the Priest, for I bumped into a top-hat-like object. After thinking of waking my cronies and Rogan to take them to Yal’s house, I remembered that Yal did not want to be woken in the middle of the night, and besides, Korther must surely know where he lived, and so he would come for me and give me another speech about how I was doing it all wrong, and… bah. I breathed out a long breath, and then I heard a whisper.

“Sharpy? Is that you?”

It was Rogan. I grabbed his hat, put it on my face, and whispered:

“You owe me a fivenail, Priest. The Estergat Swallow, no less.”

Rogan took the hat from me and snorted.

“Miscreant. Don’t you know that you musn’t take money from priests but give it to them instead?”

He gave me a gentle pat, and I smiled.

“Then lend me the hat.”

“Shut up, you guys,” an unfamiliar, half-asleep voice groaned.

I bit my lip and heard Rogan’s mocking whisper:

“You don’t lend to a friend. Besides, if you’re going to be a Swallow, you’re going to have a professional hat, right?”

I pouted. He was right. I rolled my eyes and whispered:

“Very round, very round. Tomorrow, when it gets light, shake me if I don’t wake up, eh? Don’t wanna be late for work.”

“I’ll drag you to the underworld if I have to, Sharpy,” Rogan promised.

I smiled.

“Thank you. Sleep well, Priest.”

“Good night, O my disciple,” the Priest replied with affectionate mockery.

I closed my eyes and thought that it was a good thing I had Rogan and my cronies, because, without them, I would have been very lonely that night.

14 Caldisona

“The Swallow!” I bellowed. I handed the urgent magigram to the businessman, along with the receipt to sign, and added in a professional tone, “For any reply, at your service.”

Ignoring me, the investor read the note and laughed, commenting I don’t know what about prices falling like the White Waterfall. He suddenly took me by the arm.

“Wait a moment.”

I nodded and waited. I gave him a pen and paper along with the price list. But the man did not even look at the latter, he scribbled something down, and handed me the answer. I counted the words, made a mental calculation, looked up the rates as quickly as I could, and gave him the price. Thirty-four nails, two more than I wrote on the invoice for the office, but why would that nail-pincher care: he probably didn’t even bother to calculate the price. After he had paid me, he pressed me:

“Run as if the devils were chasing you!”

I ran out of the Stock Exchange, arrived at the central messenger office, and handed over the thirty-two nails and the magigram. Dalem, the clerk, went to pass the message on to the operators while saying:

“By the way, kid! This afternoon a friend of yours came by and left you a message. I slipped it into your locker.”

I arched my eyebrows. A message… for me? With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, I walked away to the back corridor. The door to the messenger room was open, and I saw several of my companions sitting there, commenting cheerfully on a game of forks. Some, according to Yum, managed to lose alarming amounts of money in bets. Following my new mentor’s advice, I had wisely refrained from participating until now.

I crouched down in the corridor near the lockers and put my hand in mine. There I kept my trousers and my old cap, and a pencil, and a lucky cat charm which Manras had given me—and which he had found the Spirits know where—and… there was also a little folded paper. I took it, unfolded it, and read it.

«For Draen Hilemplert. Please come by my house as soon as you can.»

It was signed “Yal”. I inhaled and slowly bit my lip. I felt guilty. Four days had passed since the episode of the wolf in the Ravines, and I had not once gone to see Yal, even though he, with all the kindness in the world, had offered to put me and my companions up. Deep down, I had to admit, I was afraid. I was afraid of having to see Korther again and of having to explain to him why I had stood him up. But maybe Yal didn’t even know about it.

Of course he knew, I thought. He had to know.

“How do you do, comrade!” a cordial voice greeted.

I turned my head and saw that Yum had just returned from one of his rounds and was approaching the corridor with a quick step. I stood up and put the paper in my pocket.

“Ayo, Yum.”

The dark elf stopped in front of me and looked at me, one eyebrow arched.

“Everything okay?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Ragingly. Just a little tired,” I confessed. It was true: I had not slept much that night because there had been a racket near the Staircase, a long argument followed by a loud fight. In the morning, when we gwaks came out of the hut, we almost expected to find a mountain of dead bodies. In reality, we found nothing. As Yerris said, the Labyrinth was a jungle full of mysteries. And it was not appropriate for any gwak to talk much about what he saw there.

At my distracted expression, Yum cocked his head to one side, reached into a pocket of his uniform, and pulled out two leaves of smograss.

“You want some?”

I agreed and chewed the leaf as we made our way to the messenger room. There were six of them watching the game and two playing. I joined the audience, but my thoughts were far removed from the voices of my fellow players. I was not thinking of Yal, or Korther, or the wolf of the Underground. Nor was I thinking of Yerris and his blind eyes, nor of the alchemist, though that was a subject I was almost as concerned about as Korther. No, at that moment, I was thinking of Le Bor and the ten siatos he had promised me. The thing was that, with winter approaching, I was getting really cold whenever I took off the uniform, and my cronies were getting even colder. Stealing clothes was a possibility, but I had no desire to go back to Carnation, so I needed those ten goldies. And for that, I reminded myself, I had to go to The Joyful Spirit and ask to see a certain Caldisona.

A louder exclamation from my coworkers drew me from my thoughts. Five o’clock had come and gone, and like all days—except for Kinddays and Sacreddays when I finished work at ten o’clock at a minimum—my day was over at seven o’clock. Still chewing my smograss, I left the room and shuffled down the hall. I passed the door of the director’s office—by this time, he was probably already at home. In the operator’s room, Dermen was busy filing papers with two other employees. When he saw me, he said:

“Hey, kid! Since you’re here slacking off, give us a hand.”

I helped them willingly for a moment, and then a little bell rang, announcing that new messages had arrived. Tired of filing papers, I ducked out to the main room, and Dalem, the clerk, handed me a small bundle of messages. I looked at the addresses, made sure I knew them all, and walked out with my messages to Riskel. I had four. The first was for a hatter in the Esplanade; the second for a certain Miss Vayra at The Serene in Rose Street. That street was in the neighborhood of Riskel, and was as much transited by the Estergat messengers as the Stock Exchange. When I entered the public house, I found four girls in a state of panic, waving in the middle of the room. The sight so perplexed me that I even forgot to shout ‘The Swallow!’ and instead asked:

“What’s going on?”

“A spider!” the younger one replied, evidently frightened. “A horrible spider! Spirits, we must kill it!”

But apparently none of them had had the audacity to carry out the massacre. With an air of conquest, I said:

“No problem, ladies! I’ll take care of it. Spiders don’t scare swallows. Where is it?”

They showed it to me in a corner of the main room of the establishment, and the truth is, I found it large and hideous, but the ladies’ watchful eyes gave me sufficient courage, and I smashed it firmly against the wall with my boot before it could escape.

“Dead and gone,” I said. And I took off my cap for effect. “The Swallow at your service, ladies. I bring a letter for Miss Vayra.”

“That’s me. Well done, kid!” she congratulated me with obvious relief.

Her three friends flattered me in turn, and at once, confused and delighted, I allowed myself to be guided by their gestures, caresses, and words, and found myself sitting at a table, with a glass of milk in front of me, surrounded by four jaybirds chattering about everything and nothing. To my surprise, they asked me about my life, and after thinking about telling them some crazy story, I decided to tell them the truth and proudly said:

“Well, it’s simple. I’m a swallow and a gwak cat. Some people call me the Bard and say I’m good at hollering.”

They were very moved when they heard that I was an orphan and invited me to sing something. I sang them the Kartikada, they loved it, and when I told them, to my regret, that I had two more messages to deliver, they invited me to come back and visit them any time, which I gladly promised them. I went out, taking a big kiss from the Miss Vayra on my forehead, and when I returned to the cold of the night, I thought that those who said that we gwaks grew up without motherly love were slugboneheads, for, being nobody’s children, we were everybody’s, and the kind ladies of Rose Street had understood this well.

I wanted to get rid of the two remaining messages as quickly as possible and ran up the street to Tarmil. The third message was for a young woman who, as soon as she picked up the letter, tore it into several pieces and snarled curses.

“What are you looking at?” she threw at me.

I shrugged and hurdled down the stairs like a hare. The fourth message took me to the shop of the barber Malaxalra. Only when I stopped in front of it did I realize that the name felt very familiar. And when I remembered that it was Kakzail’s last name, curiosity took hold of me. Could this mean that this barber was…?

Biting my lip, eager to know more, I peered through the window. The place was still open, and I saw a young, decent-looking man standing by a chair. He was trimming a customer’s moustache. At the back of the small room, there was a boy, no more than two years older than I, who was diligently cleaning razor blades. A gust of night wind reminded me of my job, and I hurried to the door, pushed it open, and announced:

“The Swallow!”

The barber barely glanced at me before saying:

“Samfen, take care of it, will you?”

The boy left the blades and went over to sign the receipt. I looked at Samfen with intense curiosity. He was the first person I knew by that name, except for the brother I had supposedly gone to buy syrup for when I was not yet six.

“Uh… the receipt,” Samfen reminded me.

He looked at me with a puzzled expression as he handed me the paper. I put the receipt away, agitated.

“Well… I’m going. Ayo. By the way,” I said though. “Malaxalra… is that a typical name? I mean, are there many of them in the city? I mean, forget what I said,” I added hastily and, under his surprised look, I got out of there hurriedly. “Good mother…” I muttered.

I had made a fool of myself. Well, it wasn’t the first time I’d made a fool of myself, but in front of a family that already didn’t want me, it wasn’t going to help matters. But, anyway, there was nothing to fix, I thought. Nothing at all.

I stopped at the corner and turned my head towards the shop. After a moment’s hesitation, I ran up Tarmil Avenue, turned right again, took a short cut, and arrived at the office just as seven o’clock was about to strike. I changed, put the uniform away, received the forty-two nails I had earned that day, and headed for Yal’s. I remembered that it was at the Fairbank Pension, near Moon Square, down there by the river. Tired of running, I took my time, passed by The Ballerinas, and asked for a snack. I didn’t see Kakzail, nor the giant northerner, nor the twins, or their red-haired caitian companion. I wasn’t exactly looking for them, anyway. I was passing a tavern called The Crazy Nut and had just passed a group of men when one of them stopped and threw:

“Well, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t the Bard!?”

I turned and huffed.

“Good mother! Yarras. What happened to you?”

The White’s ruffian was in costume and carrying a staff and everything. He laughed.

“Went to a burial ceremony, nothing more,” the tall redhead explained. “I was beginning to think that you, too, had been buried.”

“I’ve been staying at the inn,” I explained, as I approached. I took a quick look at the three friends surrounding him. One was Lotus the Tinker. The other two also looked familiar. I greeted them with a wave. “Who died?”

“Oh, old Fieronilles’ wife,” Yarras answered. “The poor fellow invited us, all of us from The Drawer. He has no family left. So, you’ve been in the shade, eh?”

“Yep. Ah, don’t think I’ve forgotten the thirty-six nails I owe you,” I said, acting like an honest man.

I took out three ten-nails, one fivenail, and one nail and gave it to him while he snorted and smiled.

“Well, kid, you just earned my respect. Usually, a gwak memory needs to be refreshed. Right now, I’m going home, but next time I see you walk by The Drawer, I’ll buy you a drink, how’s that?”

I smiled broadly and nodded.

“Natural I’ll drop by! Ayo and my concomitances to the old man!”

“You mean your condolences instead, doctor,” Yarras scoffed.

“That’s it, that’s it,” I replied, and walked away, striding down the street, thinking of old Fieronilles and his dead wife. I bet that the old man would not get out of his chair in The Drawer from now on.

I found the Fairbank Pension just before a small bridge which led to the islets of the canals. It was an old converted convent, and the courtyard was open and cluttered with bric-a-brac and hanging linen. It must have been nearly eight o’clock, and except for the bawling of a newborn baby and a distant bark on the wind, the courtyard was sepulchral in its silence. I realized, as I wandered from door to door, that I had no idea where Yalet lived. Then I knocked on a door with a candlelight underneath, a young lady opened it, I asked for Yalet Ferpades, but she said she didn’t know the neighbors, that she had just rented, and she shut the door in my face. Well.

I stood in the center of the courtyard and began to sing:

Larilan, larilon,
Hey, Spring,
Come out now,
Bombumbim,
How nice, it is spring!
Larilan, larilon,
A little haughty, it is true,
Bombumbim, larilon,
But you’re the most beautiful ever,
’cause always, always, O Spring,
You are the first one to sing.

I had heard a door open. It could only be Yal. No one else here could have enough curiosity to open his door to the cold.

“Devils, I was worried about you, sari.”

I turned and smiled as I saw my master approaching. He motioned for me to follow him, and I followed, saying:

“Ayo, Elassar.”

I said nothing more, and it was not until we were in the little room which served as Yalet’s house that I blurted out:

“I blundered, Yal. And, now, I’m scared because… Korther’s very angry with me, isn’t he? I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.

Lighting a second candle, Yal sat down on his bench and sighed, massaging his forehead.

“Well… I’m not going to lie to you: Korther is very disappointed with you. You’ve lost his trust, and that means he probably won’t offer you any more work.”

I arched an eyebrow. Was that all? My relief must have shown on my face, because Yal pouted. With a gesture, he invited me to sit down.

“Tell me, Mor-eldal. What happened that night?”

I crossed my legs and shrugged.

“It’s not my fault. The stone went crazy, it fell into the ravine, and Korther asked me to go get it. And when I found it, Shokinori threw his wolf at me, and I ran off, but the wolf caught me. And… and then… I don’t know, Elassar. They took the stone from me and left.”

“You haven’t spoken with them?”

I shook my head in silence. Yal cleared his throat.

“And then what? Why…uh…did you leave?”

I could tell by his tone of voice that he thought that letting Korther down like that had been foolish. I looked away and remained silent, not knowing what to say. For the most part, I’d run away because of the wolf, but also simply because I’d had enough, because I wanted to go home with my friends, because I wanted to sleep… Reasons that Korther would have found hopeless, childish, and capricious… and maybe Yalet would too.

At that moment, the only thing I wanted was to change the subject. After a long silence, Yalet huffed and asked:

“Are you going to stay here tonight?”

I shook my head.

“I can’t. Sorry, Yal. Maybe tomorrow?”

Yal sighed and bobbed his head.

“Tomorrow then,” he agreed. “You can see I’ve even prepared straw mattresses and everything for you. You can’t complain.”

As a matter of fact, a good pile of straw occupied the back of the room.

“Thunder!” I snorted and went to try out my future bed before giving my master a wide smile. I bit my lip. “Say, Yal. Remember when we used to go to the Peak and you used to teach me things?”

Yal arched his eyebrows, smiling.

“Of course.”

“Why don’t we go up to the Peak anymore?” I asked with a touch of nostalgia.

Yal was stunned.

“Oh. Well. It’s just that… I’ve taught you everything I can teach you. Except for one thing.”

“What thing?” I asked, curious.

Yal smiled slightly as he replied:

“Don’t make fun of the kaps.”

I felt the shame come over me again.

“Blasthell, I wasn’t making fun of him,” I protested.

“That’s how he felt. But that’s okay, I’m sure you’ll make up with him. By the way, the matter with Kakzail, how’s it going?”

Make up with him, I repeated to myself. And what was I supposed to do to make up? Go to the Hostel and see him? I shook my head.

“The matter with Kakzail? What do you mean?”

I noticed that Yal’s gaze became more cautious.

“Well. Your… family. The barber. Did you go see him?”

I glanced at him with both caution and reluctance.

“No. What for? He didn’t come to see me either.”

Yal rubbed an eyebrow as he cleared his throat.

“Yes. Well. If I were you, I’d go see him. You lose nothing by doing so, don’t you think? Well, anyway. I’m gonna go out with some friends to the theater. I didn’t know when you were coming, so I told them I might not go, but… would you like to come?” he asked, standing up.

It was the first time he had invited me to go with his friends, and truthfully, I was quite surprised. Anyway, I gave him an apologetic pout.

“I have to go see my cronies.”

Yal gave me a half-mocking, half-affectionate look, ruffled my hair, and we both walked out of his house.

“How are you doing as a messenger?” he inquired as we crossed the courtyard to the exit.

“Fine. I like the work,” I admitted cheerfully. “My companions are friendly. And I don’t just deliver messages. Yesterday, an operator taught me how the machine they use to send magigrams worked, and I sent one. I swear. And Dalem, the one who gives us the messages, he told me that tomorrow it was my turn to go and give hard bread to the pigeons on the Esplanade. He pays four nails. We Estergat messengers take care of a lot of stuff; it may not sound like much, but it’s important.” I assured, repeating words I had heard from Dalem’s own mouth. “Yum says people trust us because of the uniform, and that’s why they give us jobs. I like that.”

Yal was smiling.

“Well, I’m happy for you. Very happy. Anyway, it’s clear that you like this better than the job I got you with Miroki Fal.”

I snorted, we smiled, and then I held up my hand with my index, ring, and thumb extended, saying:

“Fly!” And I explained, “That’s the messenger greeting. You do it like this,” I said, taking his hand, “and you clap your hand, see? I taught it to my cronies, and Manras loved it. He envies me like crazy. Especially because of the uniform!” I laughed. “Well, ayo and enjoy the theatre.”

Yalet chuckled.

“Good evening, Mor-eldal. Who would have said you were a real savage just a couple of years ago. Fly,” he said, jokingly.

He made the messenger salute and walked away down the street. I went in the opposite direction, towards the Cats. His last words had troubled me. In fact, I had arrived in Estergat as an ignorant child, perhaps as a savage, but deep down I did not feel that I had changed. That I had improved, I had no doubt, and this fact filled me with satisfaction. But I was still Mor-eldal. And I was glad of that because I still remembered the words of my nakrus master: ‘Don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,’ he had said, ‘and above all, Mor-eldal, above all, never stop being yourself.’

I crossed Tarmil Avenue with a quick step and decided to go to The Joyful Spirit to get my ten goldies.

I knew where the place was: it wasn’t too far from The Wind Rose, and I remembered hearing that the establishment was something like the central den of Frashluc. I had never been inside, and to tell the truth, when I pushed the door open, I was surprised to see that the interior looked like a normal, fairly busy tavern.

I wove my way through the noisy tables, and when I saw no one behind the counter, I turned around twice and bit my cheek thoughtfully. Then I noticed a chubby young woman in an imposing red dress who seemed to be from the house by the way she talked to the customers. I confirmed this when I saw her pass by on the other side of the counter, and I approached.

“Ma’am…” I called to her.

She deliberately ignored me, perhaps thinking that I was going to ask her for a handout or something. I hastened to disabuse her:

“Hey, ma’am, I’m looking for Caldisona. Do you know where she is?”

The young woman finally turned to me and arched an eyebrow as she scrutinized me.

“Your name?”

“Draen. I was told to go to—”

“Yes, yes,” she cut me off in a soft voice. “Leyna! Take care of the counter for a moment, will you? Over here, kid.”

She guided me to the back door, we went out into a silent dead end, climbed some half-wormed wooden stairs, and she knocked on a big door.

“Ferruca!” my guide shouted. “You have a customer.”

After a silence, a muffled voice replied:

“Let him in.”

The young woman let me in, pushing me gently, and without another word, she closed the door behind me, and I heard her go. The smell of incense inside was asphyxiating. A candle lit the room dimly, and I saw a woman sitting on a large bed, heavily made up, but ugly, very ugly, and looking as if she had come out of a horror story.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Her muffled voice gave me the shivers and something instinctively made me seriously consider the possibility of leaving and giving up my ten siatos. But I put on a brave face and replied:

“Draen, ma’am. Someone told me to come see you and that you would give me ten goldies.” I saw her stand up and approach, and I took a step back. I insisted, “I’ve come to get my ten goldies.”

“And you think I’m going to give them to you just like that?” the ugly one scoffed. “Let’s see, Le Bor told me you owed me another favor,” she whispered to me and reached out to my cheek.

My eyes widened in horror.

“What?”

Then, quick as a snake, she grabbed my arm, and I screamed, and tried to get away, but the damn woman was strong. She threw me to the ground, and I struggled in vain, and felt her garlic breath on my face.

“Hello, Four-Hundred.”

This time, the voice sounded deeply masculine. The ugly woman guffawed. No, it wasn’t the ugly woman: it was Le Bor. I immediately held back the mortic shock I was about to throw at him and croaked:

“Blasthell, go to hell, bastard!”

That was the only thing I could think of to describe his rotten prank. The ruffian stood up, still laughing.

“The dress looks good on me, doesn’t it?”

I huffed as I sat up.

“Divinely well. So you’re Caldisona?”

“That’s me,” the ruffian smiled.

He lit another candle and sat in a chair with an unfeminine pose. The powders covering his face were as effective as a mask. I stood up, still in disbelief.

“What about your lady?”

“Playing cards like a queen,” the ruffian replied cheerfully. “Come on, sit here and listen. I have something to tell you.”

After staring at him more carefully, I couldn’t avoid smiling, sat down at the little table, and said:

“I must admit it looks good on you. Especially the hair. And the earrings. And the cleavage. Are you wearing garters too?”

Le Bor smiled with all his teeth.

“Do you really want to know, Four-Hundred?”

I opened my eyes as wide and round as plates when he lifted the dress to show me the stockings and garters. Once the fright overcome, I laughed out loud.

“If you change into a woman, you must do it seriously,” Le Bor said in an expert tone. “Well, let’s get down to business. If I remember correctly, I promised you ten goldies in exchange for a favor.”

My smile faded, and I winced.

“I thought that—”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Le Bor cut me off calmly. “I told you plainly that I would give you ten goldies in return for a favor. Yes or no?”

I frowned and nodded.

“That’s what you said,” I conceded. “What’s the favor?”

“Ah,” Le Bor smiled. “Actually, kid, I was thinking of making a little deal with you. But, if I’m not mistaken, it’s already been a week since you got out of Carnation and…” He suddenly pulled out a black pill and left it on the table, saying, “I guess you made a deal with someone else before me.”

The sight of the karuja produced a reaction that frightened me. I looked at the pill, mesmerized, and wondered if Yal was right when he said that, despite everything, sokwatas were also susceptible to addiction. I swallowed.

“No. I’ve… not taken karuja since I got out of the clink. I’m not lying,” I swore at Le Bor’s skeptical expression.

“So you took something else,” Le Bor ventured.

I shrugged without answering, and he drummed on the table. My gaze returned irrevocably to the black pill. Le Bor cleared his throat to attract my attention again, and this time, he put down a small bag, the clatter of which told me immediately what it contained.

“Fifteen goldies,” Le Bor declared casually. “If you take them to a person and come back with the papers she gives you… then I’ll give you your ten siatos, and I also promise that you’ll get something, whenever you come to see me.”

I looked at him with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“What will I get?”

Le Bor shrugged.

“A little work, money, karuja, whatever. Whatever suits you and me best. Don’t forget that at Carnation, I’ve always been generous. What do you say? Is the deal right for you?”

I bit my lip as he spoke and ended up grinning from ear to ear.

“Ragingly,” I confessed. “So I work for you, is that it? Natural I’m okay with that. There’s just one thing… I already have another job.”

Le Bor’s face darkens.

“Really?”

“Yes, I work for the Swallow,” I explained. “I’m a messenger. I found a goody-goody nail-pincher who wrote me a letter, and I walked in like a king. The thing is, I’m still on probation and I needed a contract and all…”

Le Bor’s laughter interrupted me.

“Well, well, that’s good to hear! This way, you won’t be here running around under my feet all day. What you mustn’t forget is that here, at The Joyful Spirit, I’m Ferruca Caldisona and that Le Bor has disappeared from the surface of Prospaterra—”

“For that, no worries,” I affirmed, holding up my hands. I left my chair, and as if nothing had happened, picked up the karuja pill, tossed it into the air, and retrieved it on the fly, asking, “Why are you living here in Frashluc’s territory?”

Le Bor rolled his eyes.

“Because I have friends here, logically.”

The same friends who had helped him escape, I guessed. I looked at him curiously.

“You work for Frashluc?”

Le Bor clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“I only work for myself and my lady. Four-Hundred,” he warned me, eyes squinting, as I was about to open my mouth again. “Don’t get on my nerves.”

I smiled, because at that moment I felt as if I were talking to my nakrus master. How many times had he asked me not to get on his bones with my questions! Except that this time, instead of talking to a skeleton, I was talking to a ruffian dressed as a woman. My smile widened. After a pause, I left the karuja pill on the table, earning a pleasantly surprised look from Le Bor.

“Maybe another day,” I said. “So, who do I take this money to?”

Le Bor’s eyes smiled.

“To Coldpalm. You’ll love her: she’s even more beautiful than I am.”

15 Coldpalm

Death Row, as Le Bor called it, was in the middle of the Labyrinth, in a corner cluttered with junk. It was almost completely dark, and I moved carefully, avoiding the broken crates and baskets. As I entered the dead end, I armed myself with a wooden stick and gave regular blows to chase away the rats. Usually there were always rats in such places, so when I threw a harmonic light, I was surprised to see none. Staying alert nevertheless, I walked down the narrow corridor to the back door. Coldpalm’s door. Coldpalm, the forger, the magician, the monster witch, as some people called her… According to Le Bor, she was the best forger in Arkolda, and no one had yet been able to prove that the forged papers she made were not genuine.

I left the stick against the wall and struck a few sharp blows against the wood. I waited a long time and then I knocked again.

“Why doesn’t she open…?” I mumbled, fidgeting.

Suddenly, there was a muffled metallic sound, the handle moved, and the door opened slightly. I peered into the darkness, turned up the light, and saw nothing. I frowned. What the hell…?

I almost died of fright when I saw a small white hand come up and pull the door open. Illuminated by my light, I could see the pale face of a blond child no more than three years old, blinking at me. I dimmed my light and said:

“Thunders. Am I in the wrong house? I’m looking for Coldpalm.”

“Come in, then.”

It was not the little one who answered me but a languid voice which left me speechless for a moment. The witch, I realized with a shudder. I slipped inside and closed the door.

“Turn off that light.”

I turned it off, albeit reluctantly. Even my sokwata eyes could hardly see anything. I swallowed, and since I couldn’t see, I cast a perceptive spell. I hit an energy shield and took a sharp breath.

“Good mother…” I muttered.

A small hand took mine, and I let myself be guided by the little blond toddler to what must have been a room.

“Who are you?” Coldpalm asked.

All I could make out was a large mass sitting on a large sofa. I wrinkled my nose. It smelled of death. Almost without breathing, I said:

“I come from Shyuli, nicknamed Le Bor. He wants to pay for the papers that still need to be done. And he wants to take away the ones that are ready.” I took out the small bag and added, “I’m bringing the money.”

There was a silence, and I stood there motionless, not daring to move. The little one did not let go of me, and I was mentally grateful. Then the magician repeated:

“Who are you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Draen. A gwak. As I said, Le Bor sent me and—”

“I don’t know many gwaks,” Coldpalm interrupted me. “But I do know that, normally, none of them can use harmonies.”

Her words troubled me, but I shrugged.

“Well, I can. Listen, I’ll give you the money and… and you give me the papers, and I’ll leave, okay?”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes,” I replied. In a hurry to get out of there, I added quietly. I let go of the little one’s hand, moved forward timidly, and stopped only a step short of the large silhouette. I thought I could make out the shape of a huge mouth and the strange green glint of… an eye, perhaps? When I held out the little bag, my hand was trembling a little.

“There’s fifteen goldies.”

Coldpalm made no move to retrieve the money, so after a few seconds, I asked:

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t you know?” the witch whispered. “Everyone who enters my house must pass a test before doing business with Coldpalm. Didn’t anyone tell you what that test was?”

I blinked. Blasthell, damned Le Bor! He hadn’t told me anything. He had only told me to do whatever Coldpalm asked of me.

“But I don’t want to do any business,” I objected. “I come as a representative.”

I saw something shining in her huge mouth. A tooth, perhaps? Was she smiling? Then I felt that my purse did not weigh so much, I noticed that the witch had held out her hand, and I quickly dropped the little bag. I sighed with relief. All that was left was the papers.

“Hold out your hands.”

Coldpalm’s request filled me with apprehension. The hands, I repeated to myself. Both of them? I held them out with some fear and asked:

“What are you gonna do?”

“Fear not,” she replied calmly.

She took both my hands in hers, which were very large, too large for a sajit. They were very cold. The witch said nothing. When she cast the first spell, it bounced off my left hand, but the second broke the shield of the sokwata, and I was repeating to myself that all this was necessary to bring the papers back to Le Bor when I suddenly understood what Coldpalm was doing.

She was absorbing the morjas from my bones!

In horror, I countered her spell with a mortic shock. I heard her gasp in amazement, and for a terrible moment, we both stood there, not knowing how to react. Without having yet assimilated well what had happened, I tried to leap away. Coldpalm held me by force, I panicked and threw another mortic shock through my right hand, but the witch had foreseen the attack, she unraveled it and enveloped me with an energy that left me stunned. I fell to my knees, but even then she didn’t let go of my hands.

“You’re a necromancer.”

Her voice panted with disbelief. A powerful energy was now swirling around my right hand. She knew, I realized, shuddering. She knew that my hand was working with mortic energy.

“Don’t hurt me,” I begged. “You use the same arts as I do. You were trying to steal the morjas from me. You can’t do that,” I stammered. In the four years I’d been with my master, he’d only fed on my morjas three times, once as a test and the others because he’d really needed it. But he had always done so with my consent.

The energy that enveloped my hands gradually unraveled and Coldpalm finally said:

“I have no other option. My morjas is in tatters, and my life is sustained by the energy of my visitors.”

So that was why Le Bor had chosen me, and not one of his friends, I realized with a grimace. The sorceress let go of my hands, and perhaps that was what calmed me and made me stay put. Just knowing that I was talking to a necromancer fascinated and delighted me. Besides, if she was a necromancer like me, she couldn’t tell on me, could she?

“Tell me,” Coldpalm said in a low voice. “Who are you?”

I shook my head, puzzled.

“I told you before. I am Draen. A gwak. I come from the valley. There I learned all I know about… about those things one must not speak of. My master doesn’t want me to talk about him. What about you?” I asked curiously.

Coldpalm turned her big head. I could hardly see her, and the better I could see her silhouette, the more I thought that the less I saw of her the better. She answered me in a distant voice:

“I don’t remember where I came from. About a hundred years ago I had an accident, and I remember almost nothing of what happened before. Funny, isn’t it? The only thing I know is that I tried to turn myself into a nakrus, as we call them around here. It didn’t go well. And that’s why I am the way I am today, son. I feel like a dead soul wandering the path of life. Sit down if you like,” she invited me. “I’ll give you these papers.”

I barely hesitated before taking my place on the sofa. I heard her laughing softly.

“Do you know? Apart from me and Little Wolf, you’re the only one who has sat on this sofa for twelve years. Tell me, little one,” she resumed. “Do you believe in spirits?”

I arched an eyebrow and nodded.

“Natural.”

One by one, Coldpalm was now counting the coins I had given her.

“Why?”

Her question puzzled me. I thought about it and said:

“Because, if I didn’t, I’d be called a miscreant.”

Coldpalm remained silent for a few moments. Then she asked me with a strange gentleness:

“Do you think that when you die you will become a spirit?”

“I do, ma’am. People say that, when you die, you can protect the people you love. That’s what I want to do.”

In the darkness, I saw a slight smile forming on her twisted lips.

“Blessed soul.” She handed me a sheaf of papers. “Don’t lose them on your way back and tell Le Bor he’ll have the remaining papers in two weeks.”

I accepted the papers and rose reluctantly. In the corner of the dark room, I could see the little huddled figure of the little boy… Little Wolf, as Coldpalm had called him. Did she steal his morjas too? The very thought horrified me, and I decided that such a thing was not possible. I put the papers under my two shirts and hesitated, agitated. I did not want to leave. I was dying of curiosity, and at the same time, no questions were coming to mind… It didn’t make sense, did it?

As if she guessed that I was reluctant to leave so quickly, Coldpalm suggested affably:

“Come back whenever you want.”

I nodded, took a few steps back into the hallway, and wavered.

“Will you take my morjas if I come back?” I asked.

There was a silence. Then I heard her answer:

“Not if you don’t want to. But don’t tell anyone about this. Coldpalm the witch doesn’t make exceptions.”

I heard a joking note in her voice and smiled.

“Not even my ancestors will know,” I swore. I glanced at the little child and said, “Ayo, Little Wolf. Ayo, ma’am.”

And I left.

I returned to The Joyful Spirit taking the safest route I found, entered the dead end, and Le Bor came to open the door. Slipping through the opening, I glanced at my fellow prisoner and saw that he had shed his disguise and was now dressed as a rather elegant man.

“Thunders. What about Ferruca Caldisona?” I asked, bewildered.

Le Bor smiled broadly as he grabbed the papers I was holding out to him.

“She died of fright when she looked herself in a mirror. Now Mr. Asaveo is staying here,” he declared, waving the newly acquired forged papers. “Good job, Four-Hundred. How did it go with the witch?”

While asking me this question, he handed me a small pile of coins. I accepted them with a smile.

“It went fine,” I said absentmindedly, counting the coins. I arched an eyebrow. “Five siatos?”

“I don’t have any more here. The other five will come tomorrow, does it run?”

I didn’t argue and shrugged.

“It runs. But tomorrow without fail, eh? With five siatos, I don’t have enough to buy my cronies coats too. And I want to give them one. Cause, good mother, the winter is coming and… Well, it’s not as bad here as in the mountains, but my cronies are not used to it, you know.”

“Coats?” Le Bor repeated. And he smiled broadly. “Come on! You should have said so before. I know a good friend who sells cheap. For five siatos, I’ll bring you four coats. How many do you want?”

I laughed at the good news.

“Well, four! But is that for real?”

“For real and in Drionsan, kid. You’ll have them by tomorrow. Come on, get out of here. My lady will be here any moment. Come on,” he urged me, as he opened the door again.

I went out and said cheerfully:

“Hey, thanks, Bor, really, thank you, because…”

Suddenly, Le Bor grabbed me by the neck, and I let out a muffled gasp of surprise.

“Be careful what you say,” he growled at me. “Call me Mr. Asaveo or just sir. If I hear you call me Bor one more time, I’ll give you a beating you’ll remember for the rest of your life. Is that clear?”

I answered immediately:

“Yes, sir.”

He let go of me and without further ado closed the door. I snorted, walked down the outside stairs, massaging my neck… and smiled. It had been a great day. First, I’d won the affections of the ladies of The Serene, then, although it had been brief, I’d met my father, the barber, and a brother, and I’d paid off a debt with Yarras and talked with Yal, and to top it all off, I now had five siatos in my pocket, and I’d met a necromancer.

All the way back to the refuge, I was radiant. Until suddenly, in an alley of the Labyrinth next to the Staircase, I saw two small figures talking near a huge wolf. As soon as I saw it, it barked, I recognized it instinctively and ran off in panic. My vision was filled with squirrels. When I reached the Staircase and saw Manras and Dil sitting on the steps beside other gwaks, I shouted:

“Comrades, to the shelter! To the shelter!”

My cronies were the first to react. And how quickly and nimbly we all slipped in! Outside, the barking of the quadrupedal monster went on and on, and we even saw him stick his snout through the opening to sniff us out. Thanks Spirits, it did not dare to enter, and a voice said in Caeldric:

“Dakis! Will you shut up? You’re always barking after people!”

I heard the paws of the Undergrounders’ dog against the wood of the Staircase. Then, after a while, the sound stopped.

“What’s bitten that dog?” one of the gwaks snorted.

“Dog?” I repeated. “It was a huge wolf!”

“A big dog,” the other replied.

“A wolf,” I insisted.

“It was a dog, period, isturbag,” the first growled, exasperated. “Wolves have finer snouts. Didn’t you see them in the Wild Garden?”

I grimaced and confessed:

“No. But I saw some in the valley—”

A burst of laughter rang out.

“The Sharpy is afraid of dogs!”

“No, that’s not it,” I protested.

“Confess!”

I gave the mocking fellow a blind slap and said:

“Shut your trap, shyur.”

“Anyway, we’re all a little scared of them,” he assured.

Suddenly, I widened my eyes as I recognized the voice and cried out:

“Diver? Patron Spirit, but I heard you ran away from the Rock!”

Nat huffed.

“Bah. I did run away, but I’m back. Things didn’t go well with the gang I left with. They wouldn’t give me the karuja, so I came back here. I just got here yesterday.”

I preferred not to imagine what state he must have arrived in. I sighed.

“Good to see you. Well, even if I can’t see you now,” I said, looking up at the opening where the dim light from the Gem was seeping through and managing to illuminate the alley.

“Good to see you too,” Nat replied, “Still, getting nabbed for being antisocial…”

He let out a guffaw, and I smiled and gave him another shove.

“Then again, if I’d been accused of theft, I’d have been in prison for at least three moons,” I pointed out.

There was a sudden “boom!” on the steps, and I flinched, thinking that the dog had returned, but then another thin figure appeared through the opening.

“Ayo! What’s going on today, that you’re all under cover? It’s not even raining,” Rogan said, surprised.

“It’s because of a wolf,” Manras explained.

“It was a dog,” Diver corrected him with a laugh. “A dog that made Sharpy tremble from head to foot.”

I breathed in and chewed to calm myself before saying:

“Ayo, Priest. What were you doing?”

“Praying, what about you?”

“Negotiating.”

The Priest made a mocking sound as he made a place for himself to sit.

“Negotiating?” he repeated.

“Yeah, and I even spoke with my cousin. He’s inviting us. Well, not all of us,” I said, so as not to create misunderstandings. “He says Manras, Dil, and you can come. He’s even prepared a straw bed for us.”

“A straw bed!” Diver laughed. “Swift has found a house with a view of the Hippodrome and the river. I can’t tell you how luxurious it is; we can even see the sun rise, I swear. As soon as Sharpy tells us that the bad wolf has left, I’m heading there.”

“Scaluftard,” I laughed. “Don’t tell me he has a house with a roof?”

“Yep. Swift is not just any gwak anymore, shyur. He’s a kap with class. He knows how to get things done. And I trust him.”

I pouted thoughtfully. Swift had always had ambitions to command. Still, I liked him, and I knew the feeling was mutual, and if I’d wanted to, I could have made up with Syrdio and stayed with the gang. But now that I had told Yal that I was going to move in with him, I was not going to change my mind.

“Well!” Diver threw out, rising to his feet. “Looks like the wolf has already left. Ayo, everyone, and good night.”

We answered, and as he left, I rubbed my eyes. I was exhausted. If I had not been so tired, I might have had courage enough to go to the Hostel and say to Korther, “Great news, the Undergrounders have not gone away, they are in the Cat Quarter”. But I didn’t. Besides, who knows if Korther would have had the idea of using me as bait to attract the wolf, with Shokinori and Yabir behind… Just imagining myself running again, pursued by the wolf, I was so panicked that the harmonies played tricks on me again and it took me a long time to calm down and manage to undo them. I didn’t even ask myself why these things were happening to me: it was becoming a habit.

A few gwaks, including Rogan, had come out from under the Staircase, and I could hear them whispering to each other. Yawning, I curled up in my usual corner and, crushed between my cronies, was about to fall asleep when Manras whispered to me:

“Sharpy!”

“Mm…”

“Diver asked me if I, too, was a Black Dagger. He told me that, if you were one, maybe I was one too. Is that true?”

Without opening my eyes, I snorted softly.

“Slugboneries. You’re not a Black Dagger, shyur.”

There was silence. Then Manras called me again:

“Sharpy? Are you asleep?”

“A little,” I replied.

“Is it true that dogs scare you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Depends on which ones.”

“The big ones?”

“Yes. The big ones.”

“Then it is like me,” Manras solidified. “I was very afraid of Adoya’s dogs. My brother used to say that they devoured children who misbehaved.” He paused, as if he regretted thinking of his brother, and then spat, “An isturbag. May he rot in his grave.”

My heart leapt with surprise. How long had he known that…?

“Warok…you know he’s dead?” I gasped.

“Uh…” Manras said, looking puzzled. “Natural. He popped off in the early fall. Didn’t you know about that?”

I knew that Manras was far from being an insensitive person… and that he showed no mercy for Warok took away any possible remorse I might have had for sending his brother into the spirit world.

For all answer, I put a hand on his dirty head and whispered:

“Snooze, shyur.”

This time, he asked no more questions. Or at least I did not hear them, for I sank almost immediately into a deep lake of silence and rest.

16 The Malaxalra

“Come on, shoot!” we cried.

Rogan flicked the cork, which flew past the leading cork by a few inches. He generated appreciative shouts among the cork race participants.

“Owey, owey, owey, victory for the Priest!” I cried, and I took advantage of his distraction to steal his top hat and run off.

It was dark, but in the wide street that bordered the canal, we could see perfectly well thanks to the street lamps and the light of the Gem. We were about twenty boys in all. And all of them, except my companions and me, were sons of families. Many of them came from Fairbank Pension and gathered to have some fun after a day’s work.

It was another world, different from that of the newsboys and different from that of the gwaks. Our new companions had a different vocabulary, many came from the countryside or were simply foreigners and not all of them could speak Drionsan. This did not prevent us from playing cork racing with them and teaching them some gwakery.

“Damn gonnof!” Rogan snapped, chasing after me without running. “Come on, don’t piss me off. Give me that back.”

I stopped under the light of a street lamp, and putting my hand to my hat, I put on a nail-pincher air; jumping back as the Priest approached, I sang:

Ahoy, there he is!
The pesky gwak from the Cats!
He’s a gabby brat,
and a gonnof of reknown!
Lu, lu, lu…

Rogan reached me, but instead of forcibly retrieving his hat, he crossed his arms and looked at me patiently. I smiled broadly at him.

“Can I hold to it for a few more minutes?”

“No,” the Priest refused.

I sighed, took off the hat, and pushed it down on my friend’s head, drawing a mocking smile from him.

“Candid soul,” he said in a priestly tone. “You should have bought yourself a hat with those five goldies!”

“If only I’d had enough,” I said dreamily.

But I hadn’t had enough. In fact, only two nights had passed since my enrichment, and I had nothing left. I had spent it all on gifts. The most expensive had been the harmonica for Yerris—the thought of giving it to him filled me with excitement. Then I’d bought Yal some gloves, invited Rogan and my comrades over for ice cream, and… by that point, my savings were gone. After all, I had thought, before some meddling fly or Swift or some scoundrel stole it, I might as well spend it all.

“A Cat’s money comes singing and goes singing,” Rogan quoted, and turning on himself, he added, “Funny. All of a sudden I remembered the night they kicked me out of my first gang for busting their chops with my preaching. About a year and a half ago. I was wandering down this very street, sad and distressed,” he said, walking with a theatrical step, “and I was thinking how unhappy I was and all that sort of thing when, all of a sudden, I came across a little savage covered with rabbit skins, looking completely lost, and I thought, ‘Blasthell! And there I thought I was a poor wretch!’” He flashed me a smile of the kind he would display when he was about to announce a particularly good moral. “However miserable a gwak is, he will always find another even more miserable. That’s why I have a hat and you don’t,” he concluded.

I was speechless. A little savage covered in rabbit skins? And in this very street, near the river of Estergat? Suddenly, I realized the obvious and let out a loud laugh.

“You bastard, you stole my blanket!”

Rogan looked at me, looking confused.

“What…?” And, then, he seemed to understand, and his face filled with bewilderment. He exclaimed, “No way! You mean you’re that idiot who didn’t even know what a kabor was? You’re kidding me!”

I was laughing hard as I remembered my first day in Estergat, and I stammered that I was not, that I was serious. Rogan shook his head in disbelief.

“Say, I didn’t mean to steal nothing from you,” he said. “But I lost sight of you. Holy Spirits, that’s worthy of a verse in the Holy Book! The meeting of two prophets! Our ancestors must have planned this, for sure.”

I rolled my eyes and, still smiling, shoved my hands in the pockets of my new coat. It was old and a little large for me, but it was warm. I walked away to the river bank and climbed up the rail to look out over the cold, dark waters that flowed into the canal. I looked up at the night sky. I remembered that the first night I had spent in Estergat I had tried to look for the stars and had not found them. This night, however, they were slightly visible. I jumped down the railing and stopped by an unlit streetlight, saying:

“We met right here.”

I wasn’t so sure, but Rogan didn’t contradict me. His attention seemed to have turned elsewhere. He raised the brim of his hat along with his eyebrows.

“Blasthell,” he let out. “That bearded fellow there, isn’t he one of those weird guys who pulled you out of Carnation? I mean, that brother of yours.”

When I saw Kakzail walking towards the entrance to the courtyard of Fairbank Pension, I felt a keen curiosity. Had he come to see me? I bit my lip and approached quickly. I caught up with him as he was about to enter the inner yard.

“Sir!” I shouted sharply. I startled him. “Are you looking for my cousin? He’s not here, he went to the theatre.”

I did not add that I suspected that Yal’s new interest in the theatre had to do with a certain lady friend with whom he seemed very much in love. The former gladiator looked me up and down and smiled.

“Actually, I was looking for you. Yalet sent me a message this morning and said you were living here with him. Do you mind if we take a walk?”

I nodded and followed him back into the street. He walked with long strides, and I had to try hard not to fall behind. From a distance, I waved to Rogan and glanced at the bearded man with a puzzled look as he took a street that led up Tarmil Avenue.

“So, how’s your messenger job going?” he inquired after a silence.

“Things are going well,” I replied with a smile.

Kakzail asked me no more questions, and curious, I asked:

“Where are we going?” We were already walking up Tarmil Avenue, and I immediately added, “Are we going to The Ballerinas?”

“No,” Kakzail replied calmly. “I’m not staying there anymore. You know? Last night, we stayed at a house in Atuerzo. A nice house with a garden, kind of like the one Zoria and Zalen used to have, apparently,” he smiled. “That’s where Dessari Wayam was.”

I didn’t stop exactly, I just forgot to move forward and looked at Kakzail, wide-eyed. The bearded man turned and gave me a half-smile.

“Just as you guess, kid. Zoria eventually discovered the right trail. The gnome told us that he wasn’t lacking for anything, but that he was feeling some pressure, from what he said, from someone asking him to do some other extra work that had nothing to do with that sokwata thing.”

Under his watchful gaze, I blinked. Demons, did he mean Korther?

“And I learned something else of concern,” Kakzail continued, his expression serious. He glanced around to make sure no one could hear us and then came closer to whisper to me, “That you and Yalet are part of a gang.”

I frowned and shrugged, reserved.

“And who isn’t?”

Kakzail rolled his eyes.

“Mmph. A trained gang, capable of using harmonies, blowing up a mine, and buying hydra blood. With a kap willing to rent a house in Atuerzo for, I bet, a good amount of money.”

I bit my upper lip, not knowing what to say. Finally, I recognized:

“Okay. So what?”

Kakzail huffed softly and continued up the Avenue as he replied:

“So your ‘cousin’ Yalet lied to me brazenly.”

I trotted after him, and for a moment, we said nothing. My mind was racing, and I could hardly put my thoughts in order. The gladiators and the twins had found the alchemist, and he had told them all he knew, and what could Korther think of all this? If he knew about it, he must surely be upset, especially if he had asked the gnome for a particular job other than the sokwata. With two celmists and three warriors protecting Mr. Wayam… they were the ones with power over him now, not Korther.

“What about the cure?” I asked in a choked voice. “Will he stop looking for it? Are you going to leave the Rock?”

A chill ran down my spine at the thought. Kakzail sighed.

“I didn’t know Mr. Wayam until yesterday…but he doesn’t seem like a bad guy. I’m sure he’s put all his willpower into looking for that cure.”

This didn’t tell me if he was going to keep looking for it, I noticed. I swallowed and said in a neutral tone:

“He’ll find it, won’t he? He can’t leave Estergat without finding it.”

We came upon a big group of people coming down the Avenue, and we went around them before Kakzail could answer me:

“Listen, kid. Don’t get your hopes up. The gnome says he’s swamped after so many experiments, and Zoria and Zalen suggested he take… a vacation. I think it’s best for everyone. Dessari says he can’t think straight with so much… uh… pressure.”

I gritted my teeth. Pressure, yeah, sure. In the three weeks I’d lived with him, let’s just say I hadn’t seen him under much stress. Good mother…

“I just need to know,” Kakzail continued, “who these people who helped deliver Dess really are. And I know you know who they are because you lived in that house for several weeks.”

When I did not answer, he stopped at a carriage door and said:

“Listen, kid. If I gave you some brotherly advice, would you take it?”

I shrugged, puzzled, and leaned against the wall.

“Natural. Let’s hear it.”

Kakzail ran a hand over his chaotic tresses and declared:

“Well. Here’s what I propose. I’ll ask Dessari Wayam to keep making sokwata for you, and in exchange, you leave that bunch of delinquents forever and don’t set foot in the Cat Quarter again. I’m serious. It’s the best you can do. Our parents will never recognize you as their son if they find out… about this.”

He looked at me gravely, and at the same time anxiously, as if he feared that I would take his words badly. For a few moments, I said nothing and was tempted to leave without saying a word. In the end, to my own surprise, I burst out laughing. The more I thought of Kakzail’s proposal the louder I laughed, so much so that a few passers-by glanced curiously at the shadows of the doorway.

When I calmed down, Kakzail commented:

“I wasn’t kidding.” I pouted and he added, “Come on. I’ll introduce you. And then I’ll let you think about it, and you can come tell me your decision. How about that?”

I became confused.

“Introduce me?”

“To the family,” Kakzail explained.

And he walked away up the street. I’m not sure what made me follow him. Curiosity, perhaps. We didn’t exchange a word until we reached Sunset Street. By this time, the barber shop had long since closed. Kakzail knocked on the door and turned to me, perhaps to make sure that I had not run away. Through the drawn curtain, I saw light appear in the shop, and a figure came to open the door.

“Good evening, Father,” Kakzail greeted cheerfully. “You were at dinner, weren’t you? Sorry to interrupt. May we come in?”

The barber frowned, nodded with a pout, and stepped aside. Kakzail invited me to go in, and I entered without daring to say a word to my presumed father.

“The kid is…?”

The barber did not finish the question, and Kakzail nodded as he entered.

“Ashig,” he confirmed.

A candle in hand, the barber scanned me with furrowed eyebrows, then glanced exasperatedly at Kakzail, and observed:

“You could have told me in advance that you were bringing him.”

His voice was slightly accusatory. Kakzail snorted.

“It only seemed natural to me to bring him here.” And, pushing me towards the door at the back of the shop, he added cheerfully, “Is the bridegroom here?”

He did not wait for the barber to answer, he opened the door, and we entered at once into a simple dining room with a large table and more or less improvised seats. Almost all were occupied, and I was busy observing the people sitting there while Kakzail cried out:

“Hello, family! Good evening, Mother. Skelrog, so how’s the bachelor party going?”

He gave a friendly pat to a youngster who was much more puny in comparison to him. Skelrog smiled and replied in a serene, happy voice:

“Quite well, thank you.”

I counted them. There were eight of them. Plus a woman, sitting at the end of the table, whom Kakzail had called Mother. All of them had tan skin like me and black hair. But to go as far as to say that they were really my family… Well, why not?

Kakzail’s arrival had elicited enthusiastic shouts from the younger ones. It was obvious that they liked the older brother they had only known for a few moons. If another brother showed up before them, perhaps they would be pleased too, I thought. I found myself imagining myself sitting among these people, and for the first time in my life, I had a slightly clearer idea of what a family was like for “normal” people. However, I immediately realized that I didn’t belong here.

“Mili, Nat, will you be quiet?” the Mother gestured to two of the younger children. Her voice, though quiet, seemed authoritative and imposed silence immediately. Once calm was restored, she gave her eldest son an embarrassed look. “Kakzail. Who’s the boy?”

The bearded man smiled and, rounding the table again, gestured towards me, declaring as if he were going to present a trophy:

“Your son, Mother. Ashig Malaxalra.”

Faced with the curious looks of the Malaxalra, I forced an embarrassed smile and said:

“Ayo.”

And I glanced at Kakzail as if to ask: Can I go now? The barber was only a step away from me, and I was nervous. He sighed and said:

“Can we talk for a moment, Kakzail? In private?”

He had not finished his question when he was already heading for a door. Kakzail looked patient and, passing by me, said:

“Don’t worry.”

I arched a casual eyebrow as if to say, “Pff, I’m not worried at all”. Nevertheless, I realized that my presence was not especially welcome. The mother rose to her feet and, after glancing at me hesitantly, she too disappeared into the adjoining room with a quick step. The door closed. And an awkward silence fell in the dining room as the animated conversation behind the door was heard. I recognized the words, “prison”, “thief”, “chance”… And, under the curious looks of my brothers, I came to the point where I said to myself: “What the blasthell am I doing here?”

Suddenly Skelrog, the one who was to be married the next day, stood up and said to me gently:

“Do you want to sit down?”

I looked at him in surprise.

“No.”

Skelrog pouted in understanding and commented:

“Kakzail told me you were working as a messenger at the Swallow.” I nodded, and he continued kindly, “I have a student who works the posts in the afternoons. With a job like that, you have to stay in shape, that’s for sure. I guess if you’re a messenger, you must be able to read.”

“Dead round,” I replied. And I looked at him curiously. “Are you a schoolmaster?”

He smiled and sat back down.

“That’s right. I’ve been working at Passage School in the lower Tarmil Quarter for two years already. Right next to the glassworks where Skrindwar works,” he observed, gesturing to a brother who must have been Yal’s age. “You sure you don’t want to sit down?”

At that moment, we heard the barber raise his voice, and though I could not make out what he was saying, it confirmed my conviction that my presence, far from being welcome, was creating a conflict I never wished for.

“Don’t worry,” a boy assured. “Father gets angry sometimes, but it never lasts long.”

I recognized him. It was Samfen, the one who had given me back the signed receipt two days earlier. Despite his sincere and sympathetic look, I couldn’t help but feel increasingly uneasy, and hearing the mother’s annoyed tone in the adjoining room, I unconsciously backed away towards the door that led to the shop.

“Hey, where are you going?” Skelrog protested.

I shrugged.

“Well… I’m leaving. You know, I mean, thunders, I only came to take a look. I ain’t here to stir up trouble. So I’m leaving. As they say, bad blood can’t fix a rug. Ayo.”

At that moment, the little girl of about six, surely the one called Mili, fell from her chair with a crash, and after I had stretched my neck and seen that she had not been hurt, I took advantage of the distraction to move away quickly towards the exit door. I opened the lock.

“Ashig!” Skelrog called to me in a huff. “Please wait.”

I did not wait. I walked out, not forgetting to close the door politely behind me, and almost ran away, fearing that my brothers would try to convince me to turn back, which would be in vain anyway. I had seen the whole family, and my curiosity was satisfied for the moment. I didn’t want to stay and wait for the barber or his lady to kick me out themselves because I was a bad gwak or whatever. The truth was, until then, it hadn’t even occurred to me that it was possible for me to live with them. Not until I saw Skelrog and Samfen being so kind. Not until I saw all my brothers and sisters looking at me with undisguised curiosity.

Instead of returning to Fairbank Pension, I entered the Cat Quarter and walked kicking a stone along a street, deep in thought. Then, finally, I said aloud:

“A gwak is a gwak, Mor-eldal.”

And, thus convinced in the face of this great truth, I kicked the stone and lost sight of it in the dark; I thrust my hands into the pockets of my coat and continued forward.

By the time I reached the Grey Square, my thoughts had turned to the story of the alchemist and his “vacation”. What if I went to the gnome and asked him to make an effort to continue searching for the cure?

“Yes, of course, like he will listen to me,” I muttered sarcastically.

If he refused, what would I do? Kidnapping him maybe? Then I imagined that the gnome, frightened by a band of angry gwaks, was giving us all a poison to get rid of us, and I saw him smiling sadly at our graves, saying: Good-bye, cursed sokwata… I shook my head. My imagination was terrifying.

And so was my sense of direction. I slowed down suddenly when I realized that I was heading for the Hostel. Still, I did not stop. I turned into the Bone Street and walked into the dead end. I looked up at the door, which in the darkness of the corridor was barely visible. I reached out and touched the wood. I stood there for some time, and was about to turn and leave, when suddenly I heard a muffled cry, and the door flew open.

“I’ve never known a more isturbagged man than you!”

I looked wide-eyed at Sla’s angry face, blinking against the light. The dark elf walked past me with her red hair tousled, and she snorted, as if trying to calm down.

“Ayo, shyur. Let’s hope you can restore the Black Cat’s sanity. Apparently, he lost it the day he took that damned cure. I’m going to wring that alchemist’s neck right now, wherever he is.”

“Sla, you can’t be serious!” Yerris’ voice protested inside. I caught sight of him, sitting in front of the table, looking as lost as the last time.

Sla did not deign to answer. She tilted my cap, looking at me with an expression that seemed to say, “You and I both know that the Black Cat has a loose screw,” and left. After a moment’s hesitation, I entered the room.

“D-Draen?” Yerris asked, restless.

I closed the door and asked:

“You alone?”

The semi-gnome sighed.

“I was all alone until Sla came to scold me. She’s been scolding me a lot lately. She doesn’t like it that I volunteered.”

I bit my lip, walked over and sat down at the table. The fire in the fireplace lit up the whole room.

“Where’s Rolg?”

“Eh? Oh, in his room. That old man is going to bed earlier and earlier.”

I frowned, worried, and hoped that Rolg was not having a relapse. Then, promptly, I took the harmonica out of my pocket and put it on the table.

“It’s for you, Black Cat.”

Yerris arched his eyebrows and fumbled on the table until he found the instrument. An expression of disbelief and surprise appeared on his face, then finally a big smile.

“I can’t believe it! Is that a gift?”

I smiled.

“Yeah. So you don’t get so bored. Hey, it’s just that you seem to sit around here all day doing nothing.”

Yerris laughed as he turned the harmonica over and over in his hands.

“Wow. Thanks, shyur.” Smiling, he brought the harmonica to his lips and played a note before slowly pulling the instrument aside. “Did you hear about the alchemist?”

I made a tight face.

“Hear what?”

Yerris hesitated.

“Whew. You’ll love this. That crazy guy ran out of the house with a bunch of friends looking for him. Sla says he left the cure for my eyes in Atuerzo’s house with a message saying he hasn’t forgotten about the sokwatas. That’s why Sla got in such a state,” he explained, clearing his throat. “She thinks the alchemist is messing with us and that, in fact, he’s run away from the Rock.” He sighed. “And Korther says yeah, yeah, that he’ll try to talk with him if he finds him, but he’s got his own stuff and let’s just say he’s leaving us out a bit, you know. I don’t know what he’s up to with that story about…”

He fell silent, and the features of his night-black face relaxed. I was worried.

“That story about what? Yerris? Yerris, are you okay?”

The Black Cat, however, remained as if paralyzed and did not answer me. He bobbed his head slowly, and I shook his shoulder, becoming more and more scared.

“Yerris!” I cried.

I shook him more vigorously, and at last, the semi-gnome blinked and stammered:

“W-what? What’s going on?”

I swallowed.

“Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

“Shyur?”

He breathed in and out several times, and I think he understood what had just happened. Shyly, I asked:

“Does this happen to you a lot?”

The Black Cat clutched the harmonica more tightly. His hands were trembling. He did not answer; he merely brought the instrument to his lips and began playing a peaceful melody.

I sighed and stood up. I wanted to go, not because I wanted to leave the Black Cat alone, no, but because I didn’t want to run into Korther. And even less so now that I knew he wasn’t willing to waste time on the alchemist’s case.

I went to the fire in the fireplace, added a log, and stirred, not daring to interrupt Yerris to say ayo. Finally, I sat down again and, with my head between my folded arms, listened to the melody intermingled with the crackling of the fire. The Black Cat played well. I did not know where he had learned to play, but he played well.

Lulled by the music and caressed by the pleasant waves of heat from the fire, I finally fell asleep.

17 Long live Diver

I could hear peaceful voices around me. I was so sleepy that I did not know whether I was dreaming or awake. Then I felt a hand shake my shoulder, and I let out a sleepy moan.

“Come ooon, get up,” a serene voice said.

It was Abe’s voice. His strong arm pulled me away from the table, and I sat back in my chair and rubbed my eyes, blinded by the light of the fire that still glowed in the fireplace. I saw a figure sitting in the chair of the Black Daggers’ kap, and… I woke up suddenly. Blasthell. I had dozed off and now… where the hell was Yerris? I looked for him and saw him lying on his bench, apparently asleep. Then I saw the muffled face of Aberyl. His eyes were smiling at me. Korther, on the other hand, was not smiling.

Without saying a word, the kap folded the fingers of one hand, inviting me to approach. I stood up, and as I took a few steps towards him, I thought of telling him that I was very sorry for that night in the Ravines, that—I don’t know—that a spirit had taken hold of me, or something, but of course I didn’t say anything, because I was afraid of blundering again. And when I stopped in front of him and met his violet reptilian eyes, I saw the silence drag on and my nervousness increase. I moistened my lips, breathed in, breathed out, and searched Korther’s face frantically for some hint that he had forgiven me, and I found none. He was waiting for me to apologize. And I was unable to do so. Instead, tears filled my eyes and began to flow profusely down my cheeks.

Korther snorted softly.

“That’s all we needed. Can’t you say ‘I’m sorry’, lad?”

I sobbed and hiccupped:

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

The elfocan accepted my apology with a satisfied look.

“Good. That’s a good first step. Stop crying, boy. Your tears won’t make you a better Black Dagger.”

He looked at me with a small smile, inviting me to calm down, but I was on a roll and couldn’t stop. Seeing this, he wiped the smile off his face and turned to Aberyl with an exasperated expression.

“Should I shake him or something?”

Ab gave a muffled laugh.

“You’re the kap. You’re supposed to know how to handle your saris.”

Korther pouted and awkwardly patted my shoulder, muttering:

“If you think that you’re going to make me forget your bad trick with yours tears, you’re mistaken, lad. And I’m not going to console you as if I were your mother, either. Oh, come on, now. Pull yourself together, boy.”

Finally, I made an effort and calmed myself. I wiped my nose on my coat, and the kap made a face of disgust.

“You’re the elegance itself, lad. Tell me, did you come to the Hostel for any special reason?”

Somewhat ashamed of my performance, I shrugged, inhaling sharply.

“Yes. Well. I think so. Yabir and Shokinori are in Estergat. I saw them in the Cat Quarter.”

Korther smiled, and his smile widened. He glanced at Aberyl before saying:

“Really, lad?”

“Yes,” I said. “The wolf chased me again. In the Labyrinth.”

“The day before yesterday,” Korther specified.

I nodded and then petrified, looking into his eyes.

“How do you…?”

“You’re not going to believe this,” the kap smiled. “The Undergrounders were looking for someone who could break into a highly secure location, and in their search… they came across a Black Dagger. Yabir is a scholar and speaks Owram perfectly. His Drionsan, however, is horrible. But understandable. Shokinori, on the other hand, doesn’t understand a word. Apparently, he’s a bit like his bodyguard. Except they’re both hobbits and let’s just say their appearance doesn’t impose much,” he joked, laughing. “Well, as you can see, the business is going well. It’s a pity that you and I have lost our mutual trust, because otherwise I would have given you a very important mission.”

I looked at him, speechless. Korther glanced at me mockingly and, rubbing his beard, said:

“That’s the way life is, lad. How is Yerris?”

Strangely enough, he was asking Ab. Ab leaned over to the Black Cat and felt his neck, as if looking for a pulse. Only then did I notice the empty bottle on the table beside the harmonica… An empty bottle, I repeated to myself, suddenly alarmed. Could it be that…? I took a deep breath and asked:

“Is that the potion?”

“Yep,” Aberyl confirmed. “Dessari Wayam did leave it in the house before he left with those weird twins and big dudes.” He gestured vaguely to Yerris and added as he stood up, “So far, he’s not having convulsions like last time. Hopefully the potion will work.”

The young Black Dagger sat down in a chair, and as he did, he picked up the harmonica and examined it curiously. I frowned and was about to tell him not to touch it, that it was the Black Cat’s, but, tense as I was, I held my tongue. As Aberyl balanced himself on his seat and leaned his boots on the table, the kap resumed:

“Well, what is it, lad? If you came to the Hostel, I suppose it was with the intention of getting my forgiveness—and of behaving from now on like a Black Dagger and not like a snotty coward and deserter.”

I felt myself turn pale and looked at him warily.

“Yes, sir. But the alchemist…”

I moistened my lips and fell silent, and Korther arched an eyebrow.

“What’s up with the alchemist, lad?”

I swallowed my saliva.

“Well… he’s gone.”

Korther shrugged.

“I know. In his note, he says he will do everything he can to find the cure for the sokwatas. What more do you want? You will get nothing by chasing him and threatening him. Let it be. Look at Aberyl: he waited five years before he found a cure for his energy instability.”

I arched an eyebrow. Energy instability? Ab? At my surprised look, Aberyl made a smiling pout, left the harmonica on the table and declared cheerfully:

“This gnome is the best alchemist in Prospaterra. Trust me, kid: I tried to convince him to stay and work with us. He’s made us some absolutely brilliant products… But, unfortunately, he said no. I, Dessari Wayam, will never collaborate with a bunch of criminals again,” he quoted, mockingly, raising his index finger. And he sighed, “And to think we treated him so well…”

“Mmph. Treat the beggar like a prince and he will forget even your name,” Korther pronounced. His eyes fell on me and sparkled with the glow of the fire in the fireplace. “Tell me, lad. Can you do me a favor?”

I opened my eyes wide. A favor! I nodded, eager and anticipating.

“Well, natural! What favor?”

The kap looked at me for a moment before smiling.

“Get out of here.”

My heart sank. I nodded again, nervously, and backed up to the exit door, glancing at Yerris’ still body.

“I-It runs,” I stammered. I withdrew the bar, pulled on the handle, and the cold outside made me flinch. “Ayo,” I muttered.

Korther did not look at me. But just as I was about to close the door, I saw him frown, his expression slightly disappointed. Had he expected me to react differently? To maybe ask him to trust me and give me a second chance to complete this mission that was so important to Shokinori and Yabir? But, seriously, what for? To have the wolf of those Undergrounders pounce on me again? Good mother. That I didn’t want to come across that monster again didn’t mean I was a snotty coward… did it?

I hesitated for a few seconds at the closed door, then turned my back on it and walked away down the Bone Street. After a while, I realized that I was heading for the Timid River and not for the Fairbank Pension. And I also realized that I was not feeling well. I recognized the symptoms: an unpleasant tingling in my eyes, numbness in my hands, a general uneasiness that would soon get worse…

“Blasthell,” I growled.

In principle, the effects of the sokwata should have lasted at least two more days…

I stopped in the middle of a deserted street, taking my head in my hands.

Well, what should I do now? I didn’t know if the alchemist had left a supply of sokwata, but it could be. However, I hesitated because I had no desire to go back to the Hostel to ask for it.

I continued to walk aimlessly, trying to think. I could go to The Joyful Spirit and ask Le Bor for karuja. I knew he would give it to me even though I didn’t have much to give him right now. However, I was going in the opposite direction. Maybe because I didn’t want to disappoint Le Bor? Maybe.

When I reached the Timid River, I knelt down by a trickle of water in a not too dangerous rocky spot and thrust my hands into the current. Despite the cold night air, the water was warm. I drank and muttered faintly:

“What are you doing, Mor-eldal? What the blasthell are you doing?”

I had to get moving. I thought of my cronies and Rogan. They’d taken sokwata a few days after me, and probably they were all fine. At least, that was something.

With some difficulty, I got up and, trembling from head to foot, walked back down the street which went along the Timid River to the River of Estergat. I felt as if I had turned into a lame spirit wandering aimlessly through Estergat. I was moving forward, and I didn’t really know where. Suddenly, I came to a staircase, but I did not see it and slipped. I fell rolling down, and the Spirits of Good Fortune must have been on my side, for, apart from bruising my whole body, I miraculously escaped alive. When I got down I let out all the air in my lungs along with a:

“Isturbag.”

With an effort, I straightened up and saw that two figures had stopped near me and were bending down, picking up… coins. My coins.

“You bastards, pop off…” I mumbled under my breath.

I got up, and the truth is that I was not sure what my intentions were, but in any case I could not put them into practice, because at that moment one of the profiteers turned and pushed me. He did not do it with much force, but enough to send me to the ground again, given my condition. The thief laughed.

“Hell, the kid’s drunk as a skunk. I can’t believe he’s not dead after a fall like that.”

“The spirits protect the drunkard and the child,” his companion replied. “Come on, don’t dawdle.”

Soon I stopped hearing their footsteps and straightened up again. I went to pick up my cap which had fallen off, and wobbled on down the street. After an eternity, I came—I think—to the street which was just above the Hippodrome, and which bounded the lowest part of the Cat Quarter. I walked slowly along it until I saw two figures sitting on the threshold of a ruined house that was covered with vines. They were barely visible in the darkness, but my instincts told me that they belonged to Swift’s gang. Hadn’t Diver told me that they had recently moved into a ruined house with a magnificent view of the Hippodrome? Without much thought, I approached, trying to control my trembling. Finally, I stopped, and the two gwaks stood up.

“Who are you?” one asked curiously.

I replied in a measured voice:

“Sharpy. Is Swift here?”

I heard them muttering to each other, and at last, one of them said:

“He’s here. But you don’t wake him up in the middle of the darkmans. He’ll fly off the handle if you do.”

I shrugged and crossed the threshold without them holding me back. Part of the dilapidated interior had a half-finished roof of boards and tarpaulins. Underneath were huddled forms. I stopped, staring at them. I don’t know how long I stood there doing nothing, but at last, I opened my mouth to ask for help… and before I could get a sound out of my throat, I collapsed.

I fell on someone who uttered a curse. Then I heard confused voices and felt hands turning me over to lie on my back. It was very dark, and I could not recognize the figure who patted me on the cheek and said:

“Open your mouth, shyur. Thunders, open it and chew on this.”

I listened, though my mind noticed that this gwak was not giving me the usual karuja pill but something in the shape of a stem. I swallowed.

“Hell, come on, chew. Otherwise, it’s not as effective. Here. This time, chew it for real.”

I took the second stalk and chewed. Incredibly, the pain gradually subsided. When I finally recognized the voice of my savior, I winced. It was Syrdio. I snorted.

“What… is this thing?”

“Asofla,” another voice answered. It was Diver. “Don’t worry, I’ve been taking it for three days, and I’m still alive. People say it’s toxic, I know, but it doesn’t seem to affect sokwatas the same way. At least that’s what I think. One good thing about asofla is that it grows everywhere. Now, what the hell did you come here for, Sharpy?”

I sat up and continued chewing the asofla. It tasted bitter. Asofla, I repeated to myself in disbelief. I knew what it was: it was a black plant that grew like a weed near the river and on the sides of the paths. One of my first days in Estergat, Yerris caught me pulling one out and nearly scared me to death when he shouted, “Let go of that, shyur, it’s the hand of the devil!”.

I bit my lip and shrugged. Hand of the devil or not, it had just brought me back to life. And it was fabulous news. More than fabulous. Because it meant: goodbye sokwata, goodbye karuja… and goodbye alchemist!

Finally, I explained:

“The alchemist says he’ll keep looking for the cure, but he legged it, and I don’t know where he is.”

There was silence. And then Syrdio whistled:

“You lost the alchemist?”

Immediately, I felt the atmosphere heating up.

“He legged it,” I repeated. “But he says that—”

“Isturbag,” Syrdio interrupted. “The Black Cat doesn’t know where he is either?”

“No. And neither does Sla. The gnome is gone,” I insisted. “And Korther doesn’t want to deal with this anymore—”

“The Black Dagger kap?” Diver questioned.

“Dead round,” I confirmed.

I breathed in sharply when Syrdio pushed me down, grunting his displeasure. The more I chewed, the less my eyes burned, and the more every muscle in my body ached… from that stupid fall down the stairs. I stood up feeling as if I had been crushed by a stousteeler. And seeing me standing, Syrdio pushed me again, and I hit the ruined wall with a gasp.

Diver stepped in, protesting:

“Hey, Syrdio, don’t get mad! It’s not Sharpy’s fault. If it wasn’t for the Black Daggers, the Alchemist would still be with the Ojisaries, remember? Besides, who cares about the Alchemist now? We have the asofla. Put some water in your wine,” he insisted.

Syrdio became quiet, he gave a “bah” of indifference, and walked away without a word. I noticed that other gwaks had awakened and approached me to see what was going on, but most were still asleep.

“Diver,” I said in a low voice. “If you already knew about the asofla the other day… why didn’t you tell me?”

From his brief silence, I could tell that he was grimacing with uneasiness. He replied:

“Like I said, I was testing.” He grabbed me by the sleeve and motioned for us to move away from where the gang was sleeping. Limping a bit, I followed him to a ruined wall as he said, “It was a lucky guess. I was over there towards Lysentam, and I knew I wouldn’t make it to Estergat alive without karuja, so I thought: to hell with it. And I put a big handful of asofla down my throat. I thought I was going to die, but the plant brought me back to life. It doesn’t fix everything,” he admitted. “But it’s almost as good as karuja, and one good thing is that you don’t have to break your back to get a stalk: it grows everywhere! So, problem solved. To hell with the alchemist.”

He gave me a cheerful pat on the back that made me grunt in pain.

“Careful, you demon! I’m all banged up,” I protested, massaging my shoulder.

“Oh, really?” Diver said, surprised. “Did the Black Daggers beat you up?”

I huffed.

“No, no, that’s not it. I fell down a flight of stairs on my way here.” Diver laughed, incredulous, and I assured him, “I’m not lying. I hurt all over.”

“Well, I’ve got a cure for beatings and falls, if you like. Here.”

He put something round in the palm of my hand.

“What is it?”

“What is it, you ask? Don’t tell me you’ve never had any! It’s passwhite. It kills pain, it makes the cold go away, and it revives the spirit. It’s like radrasia, but it doesn’t give you a hangover. It even works better if you’re sokwata.”

Diver praised it so much that I swallowed the candy without hesitation and continued to chew the asofla stem. I felt no change, but still I said:

“Thank you.”

Diver leaned against the wall.

“You’re welcome. At least this way you’ll be cheerful tonight. Are you still working at the Swallow?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Me? I’ve taken to spending time in the taverns of the Cats,” he declared. “I run errands. You should do the same. Spending the day out when it’s cold is bad for your health. A beauty from The Blue Flame told me so, you know.”

I twisted my mouth into a pout and in turn praised my work:

“When you run, you don’t get cold. You have no idea how many people I know in Wheel Road, Rose Street… Well! If only you knew… And…”

I laughed and staggered. Diver helped me to regain my balance and sit up. A strange euphoria was overcoming me, and overwhelmed by a pleasant warmth, I continued to chatter about the Swallow and my work encounters. I don’t know exactly what I told him. Nothing very coherent, surely. In the meantime, Diver shared with me a small supply of asofla that should last me a few days. At one point, I suddenly broke into song, and my companion, bursting into laughter, gagged me with his hand so that I would not wake the gwakery. Long afterwards, when the other companions were already beginning to stir in the shelter, I continued to rave on and on:

“And I’m telling you, mate: long live the gwak! The nail-pinchers have gold and silver, but we have bones. Bones! My master says that’s the most important thing. It’s vital.”

“Natural,” Diver laughed. He sucked the smoke from his smograss cigar and passed it to me.

“Natural,” I repeated, accepting it. “And, mate, my cronies are worth much more than gold and silver, because they have bones. That’s very easy to understand. I’ve known it for a long time. You’re listening to me, right?”

“For quite some time,” Diver repeated with application while stifling a yawn.

I nodded.

“Quite some time. Bones. Yeah. That’s why real necromancers respect life more than demons: because they give morjas to the bones that move and take it from the ones that don’t. You understand, right? We fight for life even beyond death. That’s what my master said, and it’s true.”

“Mm, sure,” Diver asserted. “So you have a master?”

“Of course I have one. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be gone to grass. I’d love to see his skull again. And hear him speak. He’s the one who taught me to sing. I miss him,” I confessed.

There was a silence. My earlier euphoria had gradually turned into a mixture of apathy and melancholy. Then Diver said:

“Sometimes it’s better to have someone to miss rather than no one.”

There was another silence, and then he took the cigar from me and stood up.

“Say, by the way, you know it’s daybreak already? You talk more than the poll parrots from the Cats, Sharpy. You should go back to your cousin’s house before the effect of the passwhite wears off. That way you won’t hurt on the way. It runs?”

“It runs!” I said.

I stood up, and after feeling a little dizzy, I managed to keep myself upright.

“By the way, Diver,” I said then. “Where did you say I should go?”

Diver snorted.

“To your cousin’s. Or the Swallow, for all I know.”

“The Swallow!” I cried. “Of course. I’m going.”

I gave him a big smile, a friendly pat on the back, and left. I did not fully realize my condition until I was already on Tarmil Avenue and passed The Ballerinas. Right next to it was Sunset Street, the street of the barber’s shop, and I stopped to contemplate it. I looked in the window. The shop was still closed.

“No, not the barber shop,” I said aloud. I ignored the cautious look a passerby gave me and said, “The Swallow. That’s where I’m going.”

I was about to turn around when a movement at one of the first floor windows made me look up. The curtains were moving. After a moment, a woman’s face appeared. I recognized her. It was the same girl of perhaps sixteen that I had seen the day before, sitting at the family table. I met her eyes, and then Samfen, too, peeped out his head. I stood as if paralyzed and hesitated to raise a hand to greet them when suddenly someone grabbed me by the neck.

“Will you get out of my threshold, rascal?”

The man pushed me aside, and as he turned to close the door of his house, I gave him the finger by reflex, and walked away with a not very straight gait. I did not dare to look up at the window of the barber’s shop again. I went through the Esplanade to clean my face and hands, and by the time I reached the messenger’s office, I had more or less recovered from the effect of the passwhite, but because of that, all the pains which it had suppressed during the night had reappeared. I sighed. I knew that Diver had not drugged me with ill intent, but now I felt terrible about it… mostly because I feared I had said too much. I had told him about necromancy. Why on earth had I talked to him about bones and morjas and necromancy? The only thing that comforted me was the thought that Diver didn’t seem to have given much credit to my ravings either.

I entered the office when the bells of the Great Temple rang nine. I was late, and the look on Dalem’s face, the office worker, made me realize that the director knew about it. Blasthell. Throwing a general ayo rather discreetly, I passed without stopping. I went to put the uniform behind one of the screens in the corridor, and good mother, the trouble I had to put on the pants… Thanks to my slightly dark skin, the bruises were not too noticeable, but even so, well, they were visible. Remembering the fall, I marveled again that I was still alive. I reached for my three necklaces and felt them with satisfaction. With the protection of the Daglat’s Star, the pendant of my ancestors, and the Priest’s necklace… even if the devils threw me off the top of the Rock, I would surely survive!

I rolled my eyes at my wild thoughts, reached into my coat for the asofla, and stuffed them into the pockets of my uniform. I smiled with joy, for, now that my mind was clear, I fully realized what the discovery of Diver meant. I felt like… like I had been freed from the salbronix mine a second time. I remembered something Yerris had said a long time ago, about how a gwak had to make a living and not everything was handed to him on a plate, and it was true. The alchemist had not solved any problem: a gwak had. My smile widened as I put a stalk of asofla in my mouth. I murmured:

“Long live Diver.”

I sat down on the floor and finished putting on the boots. I put on the cap number forty-two and was feeling in my pockets, looking for my pencil and papers, when Dermen pointed to one side of the screen.

“Boy. The director wants to see you.”

Startled, I looked at the expression of the employee, and when he turned his back on me, I took advantage of the fact to spit out the asofla; I kept it in my pocket and followed Dermen down the corridor without a word to the manager’s office. The door was open, and the manager, sitting at his table, looked up as I peeked my head into the room.

The director was a relatively young human for his position. He was chubby and short, and dressed like a nail-pincher. My office mates thought he was a good boss. But he had his quirks. He considered it vital that we, the messengers of the Swallow, present an impeccable image to enhance the image of the company, and so he promised bonuses to those who came closest to his model of an “exemplary messenger”, who was, for him, a clean, active, obliging, discreet, and… punctual boy. I looked into his green eyes and thought I saw a clear message in them: you are fired.

Following Yum’s advice on how to suck up to an irritated boss, I respectfully removed my cap, entered the office, and asked in a professional tone:

“You called me, sir?”

“Draen Hilemplert,” he said bluntly. He leaned back in his chair and glared at me. “You’re an hour late for work, and to make matters worse, your face is all bruised… You’ve been on your best behavior up to now. I hope it won’t happen again.”

I blinked. Good mother, he wasn’t firing me! With difficulty, I suppressed a smile, jumped inwardly with relief, and tried to put on a sorrowful air.

“Excuse me, sir. Actually…”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” the director cut me off. At his clearly disappointed expression, I looked down and thought it prudent to keep my mouth shut. After a silence, he added: “Your fault remains on record, and I will not forget it. Dermen! Give the boy some ointment and let him fix his face a little. And then get to work. Only by working can one earn his bread honestly. Isn’t that right, Draen Hilemplert?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, with an air of conviction.

The director’s expression became more friendly. He released me, and I left the office, breathing out softly to finish calming myself. Kindly, Dermen helped me cover the scratches and bruises with an ointment. He didn’t ask me how I got them, and I didn’t say anything.

“You’re ready to go,” Dermen then announced with a small smile.

I returned his smile and was about to walk away when Dalem, the clerk, appeared in the hallway with a troubled expression.

“Boy! Oh… You’re here. Uh… Wait a moment, will you?” he said. And he knocked on the door of the director under my surprised look. Demons, what was going on now?

Frowning, I approached and managed to hear what Dalem was saying to the director in a nervous whisper:

“A police officer is looking for the boy…”

“What boy?” the director replied in a louder voice.

“Uh… Draen Hilemplert,” Dalem replied.

When I heard my name, I stopped dead in my tracks and turned deathly pale. Good mother, and why were the flies looking for me now?

18 A monster in the wedding

Wide-eyed, I poked my head through the door of the main office. I saw, in fact, a fly waiting quietly, contemplating an advertisement hanging on a wall… The next second, I backed briskly into the corridor, and seeing that the director was coming out of his office with a terrible expression, I assured:

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The director didn’t even look at me when he ordered:

“Wait here.”

He left the main office with Dalem and, obediently, I waited in the corridor. After a few moments, I looked again and saw the fly talking with the director. The fly had a thick beard. And… a purple band under his cap? When I recognized him, my jaw dropped.

“Good spirits,” I said. And I approached, unable to believe my eyes. “Kakzail?”

The gladiator smiled with all his teeth.

“Ah, there you are! I asked your director if he would allow you to attend the wedding. And he even agreed to let you go with the uniform. It suits you perfectly! Come on, hurry up or we’ll be late.”

I looked at him wide-eyed, and as he walked away towards the exit door, I turned to Dalem and the director. The latter gave me a slight smile.

“Go ahead. Anyway, today you don’t look very alert.”

It was true. I shook my head, speechless, and walked away to join the bearded man, who was already on the street. He walked with long strides, and I tried to keep up with him despite my aching body.

“Good mother, you didn’t tell me you were a fly!” I said, still amazed.

A hint of accusation mixed with disappointment vibrated in my voice. For me, flies had always been—I don’t know—the ones who grabbed you by the neck and tied you up, the ones who beat you with a baton and confiscated your belongings for no Patron-Saintly reason. A brother could not be a fly. It made no sense.

“A security guard, not a fly,” Kakzail corrected me calmly. “I may not have any degrees or education or anything, but I’m pretty good at wielding a sword. An advantage for having fought almost every day for those damned Tassians.” He grinned, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to cuff you for ditching me last night at the shop.” I pouted, as if to say: that’s all I needed. And he added: “Don’t do the same thing to me today, eh? Well, this time, I’ll wash my hands of it. It’s Skelrog who’s inviting you, not me.”

I frowned, and as he crossed the busy street, I followed him curiously.

“The schoolmaster? He’s inviting me to his wedding? Really?”

The very thought moved me and filled me with anticipation. Kakzail looked at me out of the corner of his eye with a half-smile.

“That’s right, kid. The whole family’s invited. Even Uncle Markyr, your cousins, Skelrog’s friends… Plus the bride’s family. Well, the typical wedding.”

He fell silent and quickened his pace even more. He did not head for the Great Temple, but crossed Tarmil Avenue and chose the streets that led down to Evening Park. We passed Carnation Prison, and I looked at the building with a frown. Thunders, how gloomy this place looked. And to think that Farigo must still be there, unravelling hemp ropes with bloody fingers…

I remembered that the little spinner would be released on the first Kindday in Purple Moon, in four weeks’ time, and I mentally promised myself that I would go and see him when he came out. And if his mother didn’t intend to take him back, I’d take him with me… and bam! One more gwak for the gwakery.

Kakzail drew me from my thoughts of conquest when we reached the Evening Park. He whistled:

“Hurry! They’re already coming in.”

My elder brother went straight to a small temple, and when I saw it, I recognized it: it was the one where a kind young priest had given me a shirt and cap in summer. It was the Temple of the Gracious.

Curious, I followed Kakzail and saw that indeed many people dressed for the occasion were already coming up the stoop and entering through the front door. As we joined the small crowd, I heard a woman say that it was a bright day and that it augured a very good future for the couple. Everyone around oozed joy. However, as soon as they entered, voices turned to murmurs, laughter to smiles, and the adults silenced the little ones. In the house of the ancestors, one mustn’t stir up trouble.

As quietly as a shadow, I went and sat down beside Kakzail at the end of one of the benches where the barber, his lady, and all her offspring had sat. Kakzail was talking in a low voice with Skrindwar, the glassmaker. And I was watching my surroundings while silently chewing my asofla. I caught the sidelong glances of Samfen and the older sister, and vaguely remembered that just over an hour ago, they had seen me appear on the street like a zombie gwak. I didn’t remember the details very well.

The priest arrived with the music and the bride and groom. The ceremony dragged on and on, the speeches went on and on, and I, exhausted, gradually closed my eyes… and fell asleep. Perhaps inspired by the monotonous and pompous voice of the priest, I dreamed that I was walking along a river with very cold waters, and spirits came out whispering the words of the dead. One in particular rose from the river and stood before me, forcing me to stop. It was the spirit of Warok.

“Isturbagged gwak,” he said to me. “Look what you did.”

And I looked and saw the spirits of Manras, Dil, Rogan, Yal… rising from the water, mute and smiling, and I clenched my jaws. This was not real. I knew it wasn’t. I was dreaming. Warok was dead, I had killed him, but my cronies were not dead. It was just not possible.

A sudden growl filled me with fright, and with a start, I came out of my dream, which had been more like a nightmare. The bride and groom had just exchanged the ribbons of union. I didn’t know how much time was left for the ceremony to end, but I decided it had gone on long enough. I silently placed my boots on the ground and…heard the growl and bark again. With a racing heart, I turned my head sharply towards the main door. One of the doors was ajar, and at that moment, a huge dog poked his nose through the opening, pushed through, and entered, sniffing the floor.

I was petrified. Dakis, I thought. It was Dakis, the dog of the Undergrounders. I would have bet a goldy. Still, I could not believe that he had gone in there because of me, but… why else?

Now that I could see it in daylight, I had to admit that the gwaks of the Staircase were right: it was not a wolf. It was a very large dog, with black fur and impressive jaws.

“Dakis!” Shokinori’s nervous voice cried outside. A black-haired hobbit with an extremely embarrassed expression poked his head through the door.

The dog turned his head towards his master, but he didn’t turn back and kept going, sniffing and growling. And the closer he got, the more the squirrels jumped from branch to branch before my tormented eyes. Finally, I could not stand it. As the priest resumed his speech, and several quiet complaints arose from the wedding party, I slipped to the ground and crawled to a position behind the columns. I got as close as I could to the main door. Shokinori, not daring to speak in Caeldric and unable to speak in any other language, called his dog with embarrassed whistles and stammered things incomprehensible to an exasperated man. I had almost reached the entrance when Dakis suddenly turned his head, saw me, barked, and rushed in my direction, his ears flapping wildly. I stormed out.

I went down the staircase like a hare, entered the Evening Park, and climbed the first tree I could find. I clung to a branch. Then to another a little higher. And higher… The cursed dog had started barking at me from below. What had bitten that cursed monster? I looked down, and with a start, undoing the harmonies before my eyes, I shouted:

“Your hollering’s worse than a nail-pincher’s! Shut up, you scaluftardy wolf!”

Incredibly, the beast fell silent, but it was only to bite my Swallow cap which I had dropped. When I saw it, I swore at him, broke off a small branch and threw it at the monster. He did not even look up, for he was now having a great time tearing my cap to pieces.

“Blasthell, drop that, demorjed! The cap is not mine!” I growled from my branch.

“Dakis!” Shokinori exclaimed, coming up gasping. And he added in Caeldric through gritted teeth, “Drop it. Dakis…? Drop it immediately.”

The dog hesitated for a moment, but finally dropped the cap and stood up, giving his master an expression that looked very much like a mocking smile.

“You’re annoying,” Shokinori muttered. And he looked up at me. “I’m sorry, kid. We know each other, don’t we? Oh, we do, no doubt. Look, you can come down from the tree. Dakis won’t do anything to you. I’m sorry about your hat. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

I nodded silently but did not move an inch. Then Kakzail arrived, but he did not come quite so close, for caution. He grabbed the baton hanging from his belt.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he asked at last.

Shokinori pouted and said in Drionsan with a terrible accent:

“I don’t understand.”

My older brother snorted.

“Me neither. Do you know that interrupting a religious ceremony in the middle of a sacred place is an offense and a sacrilege? At least that’s what the code says. I’m a security guard, and I could take you into custody for causing a disturbance. So, now, please tie up that dog and get the hell out.”

Shokinori’s embarrassed face, even seen from above, made me laugh. I climbed down a few branches, saying in Caeldric:

“He’s asking you to leave.”

“Oh,” Shokinori understood. “Of course. Uh… Just one thing, kid. Actually, two. I thought speaking Caeldric was frowned upon in this town, isn’t that the case?”

“It’s even very poorly regarded, I’m afraid,” I admitted.

The hobbit returned an intrigued expression. He glanced at a puzzled Kakzail, struck a meditative pose, and resumed:

“Listen. It seems Dakis has taken an interest in you. And I think I already know why. He is a mist hellhound. And he is particularly sensitive to certain… energies. Allow me to give you this…” He removed one of the many necklaces he had around his neck and handed it to me, “It will protect you from my companion.”

I looked into his eyes, confused. “Certain energies”, I repeated. Was he referring to… mortic energy? I glanced cautiously at the big dog, who had been watching me ever since he dropped the cap. I flinched, but reasserted myself on my branch and thought: I’m not a snotty coward. And if Shokinori gave me a gift… I wasn’t going to refuse it. Even less so, knowing that he suspected I had some practice in the necromantic arts.

Cautiously I descended to the lowest branch, stretched, and reached for the necklace which the hobbit held out to me. I perceived right away that the pendant—a small black stone—was surrounded by energy. Perhaps Shokinori was telling the truth and Dakis would stop attacking me with this necklace…

I put it on, my eyes fixed on the dog. I saw his ears perk up, and then he showed me his teeth, but without malice, rather with the air of wanting to smile at me.

“Blasthell,” I murmured. And I said in Caeldric, “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“Just a minute,” Kakzail finally interjected, altered. “Do you two know each other? What language are you speaking?”

Crouching on my branch, I was still wondering whether I would muster sufficient courage to put my feet on the ground, and at the same time, I was looking for an answer that would not oblige me to say more than was necessary, when suddenly another voice answered:

“It’s Boskrit. A dialect of our people.”

I turned my head and saw another hobbit appear. Unlike Shokinori, Yabir had adopted clothes more in keeping with those worn in Estergat: trousers, a coat, a bowler hat… he was only missing shoes. His face was a bit younger than Shokinori’s, but whether it was because he could speak Drionsan a little or for some other reason, he exuded more poise.

He turned to Shokinori with a restrained gasp and added in horrible Drionsan:

“My companion has caused problems… yes?”

I laughed and explained:

“It was his wolf. It pounced on me. For the record, it’s the third time. This hairy guy is crazy.”

Or maybe he wasn’t so much and was actually sensing the presence of mortic energy in my hand, I thought. Unless I had unknowingly given him a mortic discharge that night in the Ravines, and he was holding a grudge… Finally summoning up my courage, I slid down to the ground, and without losing sight of Dakis, I added in Drionsan:

“There’s nothing to worry about, Kakzail. They’re foreigners who came here not long ago. I ran into them, and their wolf has kind of grown fond of me. He used to scare the hell out of me, but not anymore,” I lied. “Is the wedding over already?”

Kakzail did not answer. Yabir looked in turn at Shokinori and Dakis, then at me and my brother; then, understanding that the latter and I knew each other and that the security guard did not seem to want to cause them any trouble, he bowed respectfully to Kakzail and said:

“Sorry for the inconvenience.”

And he bowed to me too! I looked at him in amazement. The two hobbits bowed again to salute, and they walked away into the park, Dakis leading the way. They were a curious trio.

“That dog’s behavior really struck me as odd,” Kakzail commented.

“Yeah, me too,” I confessed, without elaborating.

And with a distressed pout, I picked up my Swallow cap. It was in a sorry state. Dermen would force me to wear a new one, for sure. And this one, I would have to pay for it out of my own pocket.

With a sigh, I put the holey cap back on my head… just as a tumult of voices rose behind me. I turned back to the Temple of the Gracious and could see the wedding party emerging as they cheerfully sang the Song of Prosperity in honor of the newlyweds. I smiled broadly, forgot all about Shokinori and Yabir, and without giving Kakzail time to question me, ran to the temple to accompany the song with my voice, which, being that of a gwak Cat, was more powerful than any other.

When the song ended, I heard some of the young men say, “To the river, to the river!”, and I saw Kakzail give the schoolmaster a brotherly hug before they all started walking through the Evening Park towards the river. I smiled to myself and followed the merry procession a few yards away. They were already near the river when I caught the barber’s eye. It was only for a few seconds, but my smile faded, and finally, when he stopped looking at me, I walked backwards, stopped by a fountain, sighed, and sat down on the ledge.

“Good mother, it hurts,” I muttered.

I was referring mainly to the fall down the stairs, but not only that. I scratched my cheek, rubbed my eyes, and huffed when I saw that my hands were full of ointment. I washed them in the water of the fountain and noticed that several in the group, including the barber and Kakzail, were now arranged in a semicircle as the bride and groom walked towards the river, still tied by the ribbons. As I had never really observed any wedding, this made me curious, but I dared not go nearer, and I saw from a distance Skelrog and his wife bending over and dipping their bound hands into the water. I felt as if I had seen a similar scene in another place, and after meditating a little, I concluded that I had seen it before in the valley as a boy, and that this tradition of dipping the ribbons must be a ritual of the natives of the valley and not of Estergat. It was funny to think that, although I had arrived in the Rock four years after my family, I was a foreigner only in my features, while the Malaxalra, on the other hand, retained their rites.

I was so deep in thought that I belatedly noticed the approaching figure. Stopping in front of me, Samfen gave me a half friendly, half uneasy pout and said:

“Skel wants you to come. He says that you, too, must be in the circle.”

I widened my eyes slightly.

“Me?”

Samfen nodded, and not quite knowing what to make of it, I rose and followed him. My brother broke the silence after a few seconds.

“Listen… Sorry about last night. Father and Mother are a bit nervous about it. Uh… By the way. Xella and I didn’t tell them we saw you earlier this morning… on our street.”

I snorted softly. I didn’t know what to say. After a silence, I quietly cleared my throat and said a simple:

“Thank you.”

We came into the circle, and Skelrog gave me a slight smile of welcome. When I stood between Samfen and Kakzail, the former gladiator whispered through his teeth:

“What did you do to your face?”

I sighed.

“The ointment’s gone.”

Kakzail could not ask more questions, for at that moment the family solemnly broke into song in a strange language. It did not last long, and I whispered to Samfen curiously:

“What’s this language?”

“The language from the valley,” Samfen explained with a small smile. “Around here, people call it the witches’ tongue. I hardly ever speak it. Mother, on the other hand, does. That’s because Grandmother is…”

He fell silent when the barber, who was standing right next to him, gave him a curt knock on the head, and I saw my brother make an ashamed face. I kept watching the barber out of the corner of my eye as the newlyweds said a sentence together. Finally, the ritual was completed, and the circle was broken. I was wandering among the people of the valley, snooping around, not losing sight of the barber, when suddenly Kakzail took me by the shoulder.

“Hey, boy. Tell me who did this to you,” he whispered to me.

I got away, puzzled.

“You mean the bruises? Nobody. I fell down some stairs. What’s up?”

Kakzail frowned. He gestured for me to move away from the group, and after a few steps, he took me by the arm and, to my indignation, forcibly rolled up my sleeve, revealing a whole series of bruises.

“I don’t believe a word of it. Who did this to you?”

Exasperated and confused, I abruptly stepped back.

“Nobody,” I insisted. “Don’t touch me.”

Kakzail looked into my eyes as if he were trying to read my mind like the Blue One.

“It’s that gang, isn’t it? Tell me. Is it a guy from that gang? Is it Yalet?”

I looked annoyed.

“Good mother, no.” And, as Kakzail gestured as if he wanted to grab me again, I backed away hastily and nervously. Certainly, the fly uniform the bearded man wore was not improving my mood. “Leave me alone,” I snarled dryly.

Kakzail paused, inhaled, and… dropped his hand to his hip with a half-irritated, half-embarrassed expression.

“I just want to help you, Ashig.”

“Draen,” I replied. “I’m Draen. Not Ashig. And if you want to help me… stop asking questions. I don’t like questions. Does it run?”

Kakzail grimaced, then nodded.

“Mm… Okay. I don’t ask you questions and you don’t ask me questions. I won’t tell you where the Alchemist is. How about that?”

To his surprise, I gave him a mocking smile.

“Fantastic. The gnome can even run away from the Rock for all I care. I don’t need him.”

Kakzail blinked.

“Say what?”

“I don’t need him. I already have a remedy,” I assured him. And taking advantage of his confusion, I walked away, saying in a joking tone: “Ayo, mister cop.”

I was walking away, looking at my family, when I heard someone call:

“Messenger!”

I turned around and saw, near the first trees of the park, a nail-pincher with a letter in his hand and looking like he was in a hurry. Bingo, I thought with a smile. And I trotted forward and recited:

“The Swallow at your service! How can I help you?”

The man wanted me to deliver a letter to a nail-pincher in Atuerzo. It was a good distance, so I took no less than fifteen nails from him, which I pocketed, billing him for them on a blank sheet of paper. The nail-pincher didn’t even notice: as I said, he was in a hurry. And since they didn’t expect me to bring in any money that day… I got to keep it all.

After taking one last look at the Valley people and seeing that Samfen and a younger brother were giving me curious looks, I raised a hand to them in greeting and said:

“Ayo, family!”

And I set off running through the Evening Park, between alleys, trunks, and fountains. I was already out of the park when I recognized a familiar melody and braked suddenly. I spun around, and when I saw Yerris sitting alone on a bench, testing his harmonica, I laughed quietly, went around him discreetly, got to him from behind, and bellowed:

“Police! Black Cat, you’re under arrest!”

Yerris gasped, and as he turned to me and looked into my eyes, I laughed heartily.

“You can see me!”

Despite my aching body, I nimbly climbed over the bench, leaning on the back, and said:

“You’re healed.”

The semi-gnome nodded, smiling.

“Yes. More or less. Just a while ago, I went blind all of a sudden for a few seconds because I got nervous. But now it looks like it’s all over. Good mother, shyur! What are you doing in that uniform? Don’t tell me you’re a Swallow’s messenger now?”

“Dead round,” I said with a broad smile. “As a matter of fact, I have a message to deliver. Hey. How about I deliver it and come back? I’ll be back in less than an hour. Listen,” I said, giving him the fifteen nails. “You go buy some snacks in the meantime. And we’ll eat together. I invite you. It runs? I’ll tell my cronies. And Rogan, if I can find him. Normally I eat with them on the Esplanade, but I’ll tell them to come here. It’s a nice day. It runs?” I repeated.

To my joy, Yerris nodded as he uncovered his white teeth.

“It runs, shyur.”

I clapped my hands with satisfaction, waved my hand, and ran off with a happy heart.

19 Little Wolf

Evening was falling, and the Rock was filled with shadows. Although the afternoon had been splendid, now the wind had risen and icy gusts were coming up through the twisting streets of the Cats.

“Two goldies, two goldies,” I muttered as I walked down an alley.

As if it was easy to find two goldies, like that, at the drop of a hat! And what a roasting Dalem had given me when he had seen the cap completely torn… Good mother, he had gone off the deep end. He had told me that I return the next day to the office with two siatos because, if not, he would talk to the director, and in addition, he would make me pay double, which meant that I would have to work for nothing for ten days, and I would starve for a cap. In the end, wearing a uniform was not as wonderful as it seemed.

After glancing around, I entered the alley of The Joyful Spirit, climbed the damaged stairs, and knocked on Le Bor’s door.

I waited. I knocked again. I knocked three times. Nothing. That was quite a let-down. Then I thought of going to the Hostel and asking for picklocks to get into any house, nab whatever I could find in it, and selling it as fast as I could to a merchant in the Cats… and then I told myself there was no way Korther would lend me anything. Not after the bad trick I’d pulled on him… right?

I went there anyway. And I saw that no one was opening the door for me there either. How come there was no one behind the doors today? After waiting in the dead end for a while, I got bored, walked away from the Black Daggers’ shelter, and entered the Labyrinth. I arrived at The Drawer, pushed open the door to the small tavern, and let out a loud:

“Ayo, everyone!”

I smiled as I caught sight of Yarras’ red hair, and my smile widened as he greeted me with a cheerful:

“Bard, it’s good to see you again, come here, come here!”

I walked willingly over to his table, greeted also by other regulars who remembered me fondly, though they had not seen me for a long time. These, at least, were still where they were supposed to be: making bets and deals and keeping The Drawer in good spirits. As promised, Yarras invited me to a mug of radrasia, and hearing that I had been staying at the inn, old Fieronilles asked me if I had any news of a certain slowed companion. I confessed:

“No idea, Grandpa. At Carnation, we’re all numbers.”

“At least you must have learned to count!” One-Eye joked.

I smiled indecisively and replied:

“You learn to count better by looking at the stars.”

And after taking a sip of radrasia, I helped Yarras in his card game. I whispered him a good tip in his ear that won him three siatos, and I looked at the coins as if I had seen a chocolate cake behind a shop window. Until Yarras made them disappear into his bag.

In this tavern, we learned everything that was happening in the Labyrinth. So I learned that Frashluc’s gang had just split up that morning and that a guy named Gowbur had left with his followers, threatening the other kap with death. Nothing very special, except that this time it was the most powerful gang of the Cats, and that meant big trouble even for people who weren’t looking for trouble.

“Lately, I don’t go out without my dagger and my four-leaf clover,” one confessed.

“Me neither, for a change!” Lotto the Tinker laughed; it must be said that that cove always had a good collection of weapons barely concealed under his clothes.

“Bah,” old Fieronilles intervened, and at once, the voices fell silent, respectful.

“Bah?” someone encouraged him. “What do you say, grandpa? Is there going to be a war?”

The old man fiddled with his pendant where he kept the portrait of his recently deceased wife—I knew this because he had shown it to me. In front of an attentive audience, he answered:

“I say this Gowbur is running straight into the precipice. Frashluc was not born yesterday, and he won’t be tamed that easily. The war won’t last. So long as the flies don’t get in the way.”

I huffed, indignant.

“The flies wouldn’t dare enter the Cats!”

“Oh, you’re too young to remember,” Fieronilles retorted, “but the flies have been in before, twenty years ago, and I well remember it was open warfare. Until that terrible fire that burned down half the neighborhood.”

“That was thirty-five years ago, grandfather,” a young ruffian corrected him.

“Thirty-three,” Yarras corrected in turn. “I know because I was born the day everything burned. I don’t know if I told you that my old lady tried to pretend I was born with fire-red hair because of the fire,” he laughed. “And her boyfriend bought it all for quite a few years!”

The regulars laughed and scoffed, and I shook my head. As far as I remembered, I had never heard of this fire.

I did not know what time it was when Yarras said that he had business at The Blue Flame tonight, and took leave of his companions. I hastened to follow him and was already crossing the threshold when the tavern-keeper asked me:

“Hey! Are you leaving already? Have you had your dinner yet, boy?”

“Huh? Dinner? No, no, no, no. I don’t feel like eating. Ayo, Sham!” I replied. And I ran out behind the red ruffian. “Yarras!”

This one was walking briskly down the alley, and when I joined him, he began to climb stairs without stopping; he asked me:

“What do you want?”

“Well… you see,” I coughed as I followed him with difficulty. “I have a job. And, at this job, I’m asked to pay two goldies tomorrow because, if I don’t, I’ll be charged four. So, I thought you could lend me the two goldies, and I’ll give them back to you afterwards.”

I kept quiet. I waited for the answer. We reached the top of the stairs, and Yarras snorted:

“I don’t make deals like that, bard. I’m sorry. You should have challenged me to a game of forks earlier. If so, we could have talked. But not now.”

Inwardly, I had promised myself long ago not to play forks with Yarras again, and I shook my head. I trotted off to join him.

“Please, Yarras,” I insisted. “I made you win those three siatos in the game earlier. You could at least give me—”

“Don’t bust my chops, kid, I’m not your mate,” the redhead interrupted me, suddenly adopting a stern tone. “These three siatos are for my cute cousins. Period. I don’t lend money, is that clear? And now get out of here.”

I was shocked more by his sharp voice than by the refusal, and I stopped in the middle of the alley as the ruffian disappeared around the corner. Always the same, I thought. It was always the same with adults. No matter how nice they were, there came a time when you asked too much of them, and they reminded you of the limits. Because they didn’t trust you. Because they had their own life. Because, all in all, a gwak never really fit into any of those “lives”. But, well, that wasn’t new, was it?

I began to walk through the alleys of the Labyrinth, and unconsciously or perhaps not so much, I passed by the Death Row. I looked down into the alley. Everything was dark. I shivered suddenly, for it was freezing cold tonight. It was even snowing, I remarked in astonishment. It was the first flakes of the year! I reached out a hand to one of them. It melted at once. Then I walked down the corridor at a brisk pace, and arrived at Coldpalm’s door.

I knocked a few times. I waited. And I smiled as I heard a latch open. Little Wolf was probably using a stool, for I heard the crunch of wood against the floor, and finally the handle turned, and the figure of the little kid appeared.

“Ayo, Little Wolf,” I said in a low voice. “I’ve come to visit. May I come in?”

In reply, he held out his small hand. I took it and entered. After closing the door behind me, I whispered:

“Hey, shyur. Aren’t you afraid of the dark?” There was a silence. “Well, I guess not, you’re lucky. How’s Grandma? Is she asleep?”

“I haven’t really slept in years,” replied the soft voice of Coldpalm.

I tensed a little, but continued down the small hallway, and entered the necromancer’s room.

“Good evening, little one,” she greeted me. “The darkness may frighten you, but I assure you that, if you saw me in the light of day, you would be much more frightened.”

After a hesitation, I shrugged.

“My master is a nakrus. And he never scared me. He never slept either.”

I heard a slight snort of amusement.

“Mm… I suspected that only a nakrus could have taught such a young being to power a hand with mortic energy… And it looks like I wasn’t wrong.” She seemed satisfied that I had confirmed her suspicion. “Come. Sit down with Little Wolf. I’m glad you decided to come back,” she added as I walked over to the sofa with the little one and sat down next to her. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. About life, about Little Wolf… and about you.”

I blinked.

“Me?” I repeated. “Because of the hand?”

“And not only that,” Coldpalm replied serenely. “You are a necromancer. And as far as I know… we are the only two necromancers in all Estergat. That makes you very special. Your skills… could save someone’s life.”

Without making any sound, Little Wolf lost his balance on my lap while trying to catch Coldpalm’s arm and he fell between us. I shook my head, without understanding.

“I could save someone using necromancy? You mean you want to steal my morjas to continue living?”

Immediately, I thought that perhaps I could sell her my morjas in exchange for two siatos. After all, my nakrus master said that, in living beings, the morjas of the bones regenerated with time. Coldpalm took Little Wolf in her arms while answering:

“No. I’m referring to someone else. Someone I love very much who has a growth disease. Someone who needs my daily help to wake up the morjas in his bones because, otherwise, he would stay asleep forever.”

My eyes widened, I glanced around the darkened room, and then I focused my attention on the little one.

“Little Wolf?” I wondered. “Is he sick?”

I heard Coldpalm sigh.

“Unfortunately, yes. And, unfortunately, so am I. My days are numbered. Every morning, I think Death is coming, and every morning, I’m proved wrong. But the day will come when I’m not wrong. A day not so far away. And, then, Little Wolf will die if you don’t wake up his morjas, little one.” She took a deep breath. “He has no family. He doesn’t know anyone. He only has me. I’d like you to take care of him and help him grow up, and… in return, ask me for whatever you want: I’ll give it to you.”

As I stared at her in amazement, the magical glint in her eye took on the same tone that my nakrus master’s eyes adopted when they smiled.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about these days, little one. If only I could trust you, I would give you everything I have to allow this creature to live. Hold out your undead hand,” she invited me. “And place it on Little Wolf’s head. Yes. Like that. Now, don’t be frightened and pay close attention.”

She put her large, deformed hand on mine. Little Wolf was now sitting on the sofa between us, very formally. With my heart beating rapidly, I swallowed and… I felt a mortic shock. No, it wasn’t really a shock. It was a spell with a definite pattern. As it passed through my hand to Little Wolf’s head, I gradually understood the idea. It was simple. Coldpalm was only waking up the bones of Little Wolf, one by one, with an amazing efficiency. Then she broke the spell and whispered:

“Can you do it again?”

I gasped.

“I don’t know, Grandma. I think… I think so. But not so fast.”

“Do it,” she asked me.

I felt challenged, as when my nakrus master asked me to perform this or that spell in the valley. Tranquilized by the comparison and guided by the witch’s own hand, I concentrated and built the spell with application. Finally, I set about waking the morjas from the bones that were still “asleep”. When I finished, Coldpalm withdrew her hand and whispered weakly:

“Thank you, Draen. You did it very well.”

She was silent, and for a moment, neither of us said anything, and Little Wolf even less. Then I asked:

“Is he mute?”

Coldpalm turned her big head towards me.

“Yes, he is.”

She turned her head again to the emptiness of the darkness. I thought her days must be very strange, spent in bewitching false papers, waking up Little Wolf’s morjas, and pondering on life.

“How did his parents die?” I asked.

“Oh,” Coldpalm sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t know. One day, two years ago, a woman came to me and asked me to do some papers for her. She didn’t give her real name or any payment in advance, and if I hadn’t been so bored as a dead rat, I would have sent her out to fish for bears in the ocean. After two weeks, when she came to pick up what she had ordered from me, she paid me with… the Little Wolf. She told me that the gem he wore around his neck must surely pay for everything. She left like a coward without telling me more. It probably wasn’t his mother. I can only tell you that the gem Little Wolf wears around his neck is precious. Even so… I’d rather you didn’t sell it unless it’s absolutely necessary. Maybe one day we can find out where he came from.”

I looked down at Little Wolf. Given his position, I guessed that he had fallen asleep.

“Tell me about it,” Coldpalm continued gently. “Tell me how you met this nakrus.”

I frowned.

“He told me not to tell anyone about him,” I objected.

Coldpalm did not insist, and the silence continued. I put my bare feet on the sofa and hugged my knees before murmuring:

“He kicked me out of the cave. He said I must see the world and learn about sajits. And that I couldn’t come back until I brought him a ferilompard bone.”

Coldpalm cleared her throat.

“Hmm. A tall order for a child your age,” she considered. “Ferilompards no longer exist in Prospaterra. For that, you would have to travel far west. To the Storm Hills. They say there are still a few gahodals living there.”

I looked at the witch, wide-eyed; my heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t thought that Coldpalm could have more knowledge than a professor at the Conservatory about ferilompards.

“Gahodals?” I repeated. “What is that?”

“Another word for ferilompard,” the witch replied simply. “Your master must be from Arkolda itself. Did he speak Drionsan?”

“Caeldric. Mostly Caeldric,” I replied. “But also Drionsan. Except he used some words that aren’t used anymore. And he taught me to read things that aren’t used anymore. It’s because he’s very old. And he doesn’t like visitors, so he hardly ever sees anyone. Except for a few.”

“Who?” Coldpalm asked curiously.

“Well… he told me a few names,” I admitted. And I smiled. “He liked to talk about certain friends. Because they’re a bunch of weirdos. But he didn’t like to talk about the distant past. Because he said that talking about things that happened over four centuries ago is being old-fashioned. So he talked to me about new things. About Arivessandro. Jabler. Marevor Helith…”

I felt a slight pinch in my chest and rubbed myself vigorously.

“And Orferyum,” I added. “They were all friends of his.” I smiled and admitted, “Except Jabler because he once stole a bone from his foot. But he gave it back to him a few years later,” I laughed. “It was just a joke.”

I still remembered my master’s nakrus laughter as he told me the anecdote. After another silence, I said to him, thoughtfully:

“I too would like to become a nakrus one day.”

Coldpalm made a hesitant sound.

“Uh… Well, little one… I’m not the best person to advise you to do such a thing. I suppose you know it’s a very slow process. And that there are risks involved. Not many people survive. Actually, I almost succeeded,” she commented with a touch of amusement. And she murmured gravely, “But my time has come. And there’s nothing dramatic about that. The only thing that tied me to the world was Little Wolf. And I know he can count on you now… can’t he, Draen?”

When you were given a choice between letting go of a little kid’s hand in trouble and taking it… the choice was pretty simple.

“Natural,” I said seriously. “I only have to wake up the morjas every day and take him home with me. No worries. I’ll take care of him like my own bones. It is only natural. Any honest gwak would do that.”

Coldpalm nodded slowly.

“Except that you are the only gwak who can do it. I would like to be able to ensure the future of Little Wolf. I want him to become a happy man. I want him to go to school, learn a trade, and never learn the necromantic arts.” She paused. “But it will be enough if you teach him to be an… honest gwak, as you say.”

I smiled, and she asked:

“I would like to see your face. Just for a moment. But, for that, you must close your eyes. I don’t want you to see me. Close your eyes and don’t open them again until I ask you to, okay?”

I sighed and closed my eyes and said:

“It runs. Closed. But I’d like to see you too, Grandma.”

I felt a faint light against my eyelids.

“But I don’t want you to see me,” the necromancer replied. I opened one eye and… the light disappeared, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Sajits and their curiosity…”

I made a stubborn pout.

“I can make light too. I could see you right now if I wanted.”

Coldpalm answered me with a mocking glare:

“Then do it.”

The silence continued. And I did nothing. Finally, I grumbled:

“Okay, it runs. Say, where are the Storm Hills?”

“Mm. I told you that. Far, far to the west. Beyond the Mirvic Ocean. Beyond the Bayland. A child like you would take moons to get there. That is if he gets there,” Coldpalm murmured. “Perhaps one day, after becoming a nakrus, you will have time to go in search of gahodal bones.” I sensed a hint of mockery in her voice. “In the meantime,” she continued, “I will give you the fifteen siatos you brought me from Le Bor. You will take Little Wolf away, and tomorrow night you will return with him, and I will give you more. All that I have left. Okay?”

She handed me the purse of coins at the same time, and it took me a few moments to react.

“Good mother,” I murmured, taking the purse. And I frowned, suspicious. “Just a minute. Is this for real? What do I have to do in return?”

“I told you: just take care of Little Wolf,” Coldpalm answered. “Nothing else.”

I breathed out, and my suspicion vanished. After a moment’s hesitation, I put the little silver bag under my shirts and took the sleeping Little Wolf in my arms. He was a little heavy, but I could carry him.

“Well. Okay, I’ll take him. But… tomorrow you’ll still be alive, right, Grandma?”

I saw her shake her head.

“I’ll try to be, little one,” she replied, amused. “I’ll try to be. As a friend of mine would say—may she rest in peace—long live your bones, young necromancer. And remember: if you ever don’t take good care of Little Wolf, my spirit will know and take revenge. So be careful.”

Faced with her threat, I recoiled with a strange feeling in my body.

“O-Okay,” I said. “Ayo, Grandma. Don’t die, huh.”

I took a better grip on Little Wolf, who was fast asleep, and stopped at the door. I hesitated.

“By the way, Grandma,” I said. “Is it true that you are the daughter of the Bifid Witch?”

That’s what Rogan had told me when I told him about my first encounter with Coldpalm. And, apparently, the Bifid Witch did exist: she moved at the speed of a spirit, and if you misbehaved, she would enter your dreams and drive you mad.

I heard a muffled laugh from the sofa. Coldpalm replied:

“Wrong. I am the Bifid Witch herself.”

I smiled, but didn’t quite believe her.

“Good night, Grandma.”

“Good night, little one.”

I opened the door and walked out into Death Row. All the way back to the Fairbank Pension, I thought: look casual, just casual, pretend you don’t have fifteen goldies hidden under your shirt, nobody is supposed to know, pretend to be a completely broke gwak… And, while I was walking through the alleys, going down stairs and coming across Cats of all kinds, Little Wolf continued to sleep comfortably between my arms. When I arrived at Tarmil Avenue safe and sound, I was tempted to wake him up, because he was really starting to weigh me down; however, in the light of the street lamps, I saw his face so serene and happy that I didn’t dare, and I arrived at the boarding house carrying the blond boy. When I entered the courtyard, the clock had just struck twelve and it was still snowing. I pushed the door open with one hand, closed it, walked through the little room and found that Yal’s mat was empty. I rolled my eyes. It was the night of Kindday to Sacredday, and surely my master must have gone to the theatre again… When I reached the big straw bed, I lay down with my back to my cronies and set Little Wolf between the Priest and me. I smiled, made sure I still had my coins, smiled wider, and fell into a deep, placid sleep.

20 For his future’s sake

When I awoke, it was daybreak and Yal was sitting on his bench eating a cold porridge. My companions were also awake, and so was Little Wolf. Little Wolf was sitting on the straw and looking around in bewilderment. I smiled, stretched, and said:

“Good morning!”

Yalet swallowed his mouthful and said with a sigh:

“Yeah, good morning. Say, sari. Mind telling me who the hell this one is?”

“It’s Little Wolf,” I replied, ruffling the blond boy’s hair.

The little one stared back at me, I smiled at him, and Manras asked, approaching curiously:

“Hey, Little Wolf. What’s your real name?”

“He’s mute,” I explained. “And his name is Little Wolf, period.”

“We could call him Ramidolphus!” the Priest said, looking inspired. “Like the saint. They say he was blond and—”

“Ramidolphus, your mother!” I interrupted, bursting into laughter and throwing myself on the straw again. “Ramidolphus, he says! It’s awful.”

“If Ramidolphus heard you…” Rogan snorted in a reproachful tone.

“Draen,” Yalet interjected, leaving his empty bowl on the floor. “Can I talk to you alone for a moment? The rest of you, get out.”

His tone of voice did not bode well. Wiping the smile off my face, I frowned anxiously as Rogan and my cronies obediently left the room. By now, Little Wolf was crawling on all fours on the straw, probably trying to figure out why the scenery was so different and why the witch who was taking care of him was no longer with him.

“Sari,” Yal sighed then. He leaned back against the wall, sitting on his straw mattress, and continued with a tired face, “I think I remember telling you: your newspaper cronies, fine, Rogan, fine, and not one more. He’s small, all right. But I’m afraid, if I let you take him home with me, you’ll bring me two more gwaks tomorrow, and I can already see us at the end of the year squeezing together like ants, with a bunch of… Little Wolves around.” He sighed again, loudly, as he saw my decomposed look. “No offense, sari, but don’t you think you’ve got enough problems as it is to take care of a little kid who can barely walk?” He paused for a moment and added, holding up both hands, “I’m not going to take care of him. The best thing would be for you to take him to an orphanage. He’s still young enough to be accepted without problems. And don’t give me that face,” he protested. “If you want, I’ll take him.”

I gasped, frightened, and stood up, hurriedly picking up Little Wolf.

“No way, no, Elassar! I’m taking him with me. I swear I—”

“Don’t swear,” Yal replied. “I understand why you brought the little one to my house last night. It was snowing, it was cold… Fine. But what are you going to do with him now? Carry him around with you while you deliver messages? Be realistic, come on… Hey! Where are you going?”

I passed in front of him, with Little Wolf in my arms, and my master promptly blocked my way. We stared at each other. We ended up both looking away at the same moment, I lowering my eyes, he raising them to the ceiling, and I murmured:

“Sorry, Elassar. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m leaving.”

Yal opened his eyes wide.

“What? No, no, no, wait a minute! What do you mean, you’re leaving? Hold on your horses. Tell me, what happened to your face?”

I huffed, weary, and left Little Wolf on the floor while I answered:

“Kakzail already asked me that. When I told him I fell down some stairs, he didn’t believe me, but it’s true. For once, I beat myself up without any help… It’s the sokwata’s fault, otherwise I wouldn’t have fallen. Say, Elassar. You believe me, don’t you?”

Yal rolled his eyes.

“Of course, sari. So, the other night you found yourself without sokwata and that’s why you didn’t come… Did you ask Kakzail for sokwata?”

I laughed.

“Me, ask Kakzail for sokwata? No. Now we’re getting something else. A friend of mine discovered it. It costs us nothing because the plant grows everywhere. No, when I say I’m leaving, I mean I’m going to work, because yesterday, I arrived late, and the director got pretty annoyed. He’s not a bad guy, but Yum says he’s stiffer than a fly—By the way!” I exclaimed. “Did you know that Kakzail was a fly? I couldn’t believe it when I found out. It gives me the creeps just thinking about it. What’s up?” I wondered when I saw Yal grinning from ear to ear. And I widened my eyes. “You knew!”

“I didn’t know you didn’t know,” my master replied. “So is it true you’ve found a cheap painkiller that works?”

“Yes, it works incredibly well,” I said with a smile. And I took Little Wolf by the hand. “Well, I’d better get moving or I’ll be late. Say, Yal,” I added, already near the door.

“What?”

I stared at him for a moment, observed the dark circles under his eyes, and asked:

“How was the theater yesterday?”

Yal seemed to choke on his saliva.

“Uh… well, sari. It was fun.” He smiled and rolled his eyes at my mocking expression. “Work well,” he greeted me.

“Natural I will!” I said and went out encouraging the little one: “Come on, Little Wolf, the Swallows don’t wait! Why are you crying?” I said, surprised, seeing that the blond boy’s eyes were drowning in tears. “Oi! Don’t tell me it’s because you miss Grandma?”

Joining Manras, Dil, and Rogan at the entrance to the courtyard, I managed, with their help, to bring the little one back to an expression of astonishment and wonder, cleaned his face, and putting him on my shoulders, walked up the hill with my companions, with a quick step… When we reached the Square of Tarmil, I said to them:

“Wait, comrades. I have an idea. Come on.”

Curious, they followed me to a nearby dead end behind some barrels. I put Little Wolf down and quietly took out my purse of coins and pulled out a few. I put them in the hand of a surprised Dil.

“You can use them as you please, but you take care of Little Wolf and feed him, it runs? But I’ll take his necklace with me, just in case,” I added, taking the blue gem from Little Wolf. The latter didn’t seem to notice because he was so busy diving and pulling his hands out of a puddle to see the waves that were forming.

As Manras moved closer to get a better look at my purse full of goldies, Rogan huffed, impressed.

“May the Spirits have mercy on our souls. Where did you get all this, Sharpy?”

I pushed the purse out of the little dark elf’s curious hands and bit my upper lip, smiling.

“Well, from Coldpalm. She says she’ll give me more tonight. So I can take care of Little Wolf. You guys can come with me, so we don’t get extorted.”

“Well, natural!” Rogan agreed. “Say, if you give me a little something, I’ll even let you put the hat on for a while…”

“Natural,” I laughed.

And, as it was not practical to work as a Swallow with too many coins anyway, I gave him almost everything. The Priest was euphoric, and he gave me a hug which nearly sent us both tumbling into the mud. He lent me his hat, and pushed it so far down on my head that it covered even my eyes. The moment I lifted it, I saw the terrifying figure of a fly at the entrance to the dead end. I stiffened abruptly. Oh, no…

As Rogan retrieved his hat without losing sight of the agent, the latter approached, looking menacing, and questioned:

“What are you doing?”

I bet he already had a rough idea. We gave him no answer, of course. Instead, we fled in a stampede: pulling Dil by the sleeve, Manras ran around the agent to the left; Rogan went the other way, dodging the fly’s outstretched arm; I hurriedly picked up Little Wolf with a very bad feeling, and… the agent got in my way. Irritated at seeing so many gwaks escape him, he came forward quickly with the intention of catching me, I shrank from him, and observing his nasty expression, I feared for Little Wolf, I put him aside, and looked anxiously at the man. He was a dark-haired caitian, and his face was familiar to me, for I had seen him many times before on Tarmil Avenue. I remembered Swift reporting him to me as one of the usual gwak hunters, the ones who would spend the day watching you when you were panhandling, working for the stores, or stealing, and then come up to you and confiscate some of your earnings. These kinds of flies could smell gwak money from miles away.

“Come on, gwak, cough up or I’ll take you to the hole,” he threw at me in that tone of voice which means: you’re a damned delinquent, but, both of us, we’ve got our lives, so let’s be friends, you give me the money, and I won’t send you to the inn.

This made me angry. But, of course, I was not going to tell him that I had not stolen the money and that it was a witch who made false papers who had given it to me. With an angry look on my face, I took out the coins and gave them to him. The fly pocketed them, and when he had done so, he plunged his hand into each of my pockets, took the rest that I had hidden, and, being generous, left me a fivenail. Finally, satisfied with his good catch, he gave me a warning look.

“Next time, come to me and I’ll only take a third. If you run away, to the hole.” He grabbed me by the neck and pushed me to the entrance of the dead end, adding, “And now get outta here.”

Under his frowning gaze, I took by the hand a Little Wolf who was staring at the fly, and left without a word. I looked for my companions for a moment, but logically they had not stayed near the danger. I estimated that the fly must have stolen about four siatos from me. We still had eleven left. It could have been worse. The only problem was that I no longer had those two siatos that I owed Dalem for the cap…

The thought of it made me so nervous that I arrived at the office with my left hand all sweaty. Well, I thought. If Coldpalm was going to give us money… what did it matter if they kicked me out? I’d enroll in any school for my probation if I had to, and then that was that. I sighed and stopped on the messenger building steps. I took a deep breath. And turned around.

“To hell with it, Little Wolf. I’d rather leave than be fired,” I admitted. “Well! What do you want us to do? We have the whole day free.” I smiled at the thought. “Isn’t that wonderful? The whole day! Let the director stew. Anyway, he is a nail-pincher, and it’s not good to work for nail-pinchers, I know that for a fact.”

I ruffled the blond boy’s hair, smiled at him, and… someone said behind me:

“Good thing the boss hasn’t heard you, or he’d kick you out, newbie.”

I turned around and saw Yum standing by the stoop. He had not yet put on the uniform. He had just arrived.

“Blasthell,” I let out. Then I regained my composure. “What does it matter: it’s like he’s already ratted me out.”

The dark elf arched an eyebrow, and after glancing towards the messenger door, he lowered his voice and asked:

“You meant the hat thing, right? I heard what happened last night. Everybody knows about it, because about nine o’clock at night some weird guy came in and paid for the two siatos and gave them to Dalem and said he was sorry for what the dog did and everything. You didn’t know, did you?”

I blinked, bewildered. Someone… someone had paid in my behalf? I stammered:

“G-good mother. I didn’t know, no. Tell me. That weird guy… was he a hobbit?”

Yum smiled as he nodded.

“Yep. The dog owner’s friend, apparently. Well, are you leaving or staying?”

I shook my head, still stunned. I couldn’t believe Yabir had done something like that. Well, I didn’t really know him, but… precisely. I snorted.

“I’m staying, of course,” I said. And I looked at him curiously. “I thought you didn’t work in the morning on Sacreddays.”

Yum laughed as he climbed up the stoop.

“Wake up, Draen! Today is the White Festival. We’re marching in the parade. Did you forget or what?”

I whistled through my teeth as he pushed open the door and walked in. Damn. In fact, I’d totally forgotten that we messengers would be parading around in our uniforms. With a half-smile on my lips, pulling Little Wolf behind me, I followed Yum into the office.

Dalem did not even mention the incident of the day before: that day, he was all smiles. Dermen gave me my new cap, I washed my face, cleaned Little Wolf, and I think that, if he had not been mute, he would have filled the messenger building with cries of protest: given the layer of dirt that I removed, I doubted he had ever washed during the past two years. Anyway, I was full of enthusiasm for the imminent parade that all my office mates were talking about, when I learned that I was not going to participate. The director himself announced it to me in passing, commenting that at least a messenger was to remain in case of emergencies. I didn’t quite understand why I had been chosen: because I was new? Because I had not behaved well the day before? Or maybe because I still had a bruised face and was not presentable, who knows. The fact is that at eleven o’clock, while a whole troop of messengers was leaving for the White Festival parade, I stayed behind, sitting with Little Wolf on the stone bench of the messenger’s room… deeply disappointed. And to think that the previous year I had spent most of the day with Manras and Dil clowning around with other newsboys… I sighed and thought to myself that at least, with all the excitement, no one had noticed Little Wolf. He was hyperactive. Once the fright of the sudden change had passed, he was now trotting, snooping, falling, getting back to his feet, and bringing me everything he found on the ground. And I, for lack of a better pastime, commented on his finds while chewing my asofla, talked to him about nonsense, about Rogan, about my cronies, about the people I knew, and at one point, I said to him:

“Did you know my cousin taught me to walk on my hands? I swear. In the Well, I taught it to many. We didn’t have cards or dice or nothing, and we could see the sun even less than you, so we played hand races on the platform. You want me to show you? You watch.”

I gave him a demonstration, and the little one looked at me very strangely, but only for a moment, for then I saw him try to lift his feet in the air, but in vain. I laughed, grabbed them, lifted them off the ground and helped him to walk through the messenger room, singing to him:

Landidaw, landidow,
on the Rock I gallop.
Lalila, lalilow,
and you, look how you trot!

Little Wolf smiled, opening his mouth in a silent laugh. His laughing eyes said it all: they shone with happiness.

* * *

It was just ten o’clock in the evening when I rushed back to the office.

“Just in time, kid,” Dalem said, accepting the receipts I handed him. “Hurry up, I’m closing.”

“Flying, sir!” I shouted at him as I rushed to the lockers. There were still a few caps missing from the racks, I noticed. Yum’s was one of them. I left mine on, changed quickly, and made my way to the messenger room. There I found Little Wolf fast asleep on my coat. I shook him gently, woke him up, put on the coat, and dragged the half-asleep pup down the hall. When I arrived at the exit door, Dalem was already waiting for me with the bunch of keys.

To my surprise, he smiled at Little Wolf and ruffled his hair before saying:

“I know today was a holiday, but… bringing outsiders to the Swallow’s office, it better not become a habit, or the director will give you a scolding. Good night, Draen.”

I gave him a hesitant smile.

“Good evening, sir,” I replied, and I crossed the threshold.

I took Little Wolf down one step at a time and was about to cross the street when I heard a:

“Sharpy!”

I stopped and turned to see Rogan walking down the sidewalk, followed by Manras and Dil. I smiled broadly.

“Comrades! What are you doing here?”

“We’ve been waiting for you!” Manras replied, jumping up and down excitedly.

“Natural, to go see the witch,” Rogan explained. “Since your cousin seems to have kicked you out, we thought it best to wait for you here.” He looked up at Dalem, who was closing the messenger door, and he put his hand to his hat like a gentleman before asking in a low voice, “No luck with the fly this morning, right?”

“You said it,” I agreed. “But it could have been worse. And, besides, guess what, the hobbit paid the two siatos straight to the office, for the cap. Ah, why do you say my cousin kicked me out?”

Rogan and Manras looked at each other, and the former shrugged.

“Well, that’s the impression he gave me. Am I wrong?”

I sighed and shook my head. I noticed that Dalem was slow to close the gate in front of the door, and I frowned, wanting to get away from there.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. And I added decisively, “Come on, let’s go.”

We set off in the direction of the Cats, and Rogan inquired cheerfully:

“How is Ramidolphus?”

“It’s not Ramidolphus!” I laughed, giving him a swat.

“Well, then, how is Little Wolf?” the Priest corrected.

“Well, as you can see, wind in the sails,” I replied. “He’s been snoozing all afternoon. I put him in a corner with my coat, and he slept like a king! Didn’t you, Little Wolf? How about you guys?”

“Wind in the sails too,” the Priest smiled. “Of the golden eight you gave me, I have two times two left. I thought and bought a coat for Little Wolf, because with this tunic he must be freezing. Here, wait, I’ll put it on him. And,” he added, as he quickly dressed the blond boy, “I bought two of these.” He handed me a small piece of wood, and I took it curiously, but when I recognized the object, my stomach turned. It was a clasp knife.

“Is it… because of the Frashluc War?” I questioned in a whisper.

Rogan straightened up, taking Little Wolf on his shoulders and confirming:

“That’s why, yes. This afternoon, I went by the Cats… The atmosphere is rather tense. As I heard an old cat say, ‘Go out with a chive if you want to live’. Best to go unnoticed, but you never know…”

I made a nervous face and nodded:

“Dead round.”

We walked on at a good pace as Manras began to tell us all about what they had eaten that day. He and Dil, especially, had eaten like pigs. They hadn’t sold a single newspaper: they’d met Diver, Swift, and Syrdio, and the latter had given them a taste of everything in every shop they entered. They had even go bowling and shared a chocolate cake. Gosh. And I had spent all the afternoon working like a convict. But what worried me most was that they had joined Swift. We were walking down Tarmil Avenue when I interrupted the little dark elf.

“Say, shyur. Didn’t they ask where you got the money from?”

Manras nodded.

“Natural.”

I squinted, anxious.

“And? What did you tell them?”

Manras shrugged.

“Well, of course, I told them what you told me, that it was Coldpalm who gave it to you. Ah, Swift said that, in any case, he didn’t want you to get angry with us because we had spent it all.” He smiled, “I told him not to worry, that the witch would give you more tonight.”

For a moment, I could not believe my ears. Then I reacted, stopped dead in my tracks and looked at Manras with an incredulous expression.

“You told him…? Damn your ancestors, I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed. I drew a frown from a passerby and spoke lower as I walked towards Manras, altered, “But don’t you know that Swift is a vulture? He’s got a real gang! He’s going to devour us… Do you realize what you’ve done, you moron? Now he’ll be waiting for us at the entrance to Death Row!”

As I moved towards the little dark elf, he backed away until he hit the wall of a house with a deeply contrite look on his face. I saw him flinch and bend over, as if he was preparing to receive some corporal punishment, the kind Warok had made him so accustomed to… His reaction made me put things into perspective at once. Well, Manras had blundered, he was guileless, but who wasn’t at his age… Perhaps we could come to an agreement with Swift and… It wasn’t worth getting too worked up, I decided. Finally, I muttered a:

“Blasthell.”

And I continued walking towards the Cats. For the rest of the way, Manras was in a sad mood and did not open his mouth once. Rogan, on the other hand, broke the silence when we entered the Labyrinth.

“Sharpy. Can I ask you something?”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Natural.”

We walked down an alley in near darkness, lit only by the dim light of a few fireplaces. At last the Priest asked in a low voice:

“Why did Coldpalm leave Little Wolf to you? You barely know her, yet she gives you fifteen goldies… I dunno, shyur. You have to admit it’s a little weird.”

I bit my lip.

“Yeah…”

When I didn’t add anything, Rogan continued:

“It is said that some witches buy your soul. They bind you using a spell and promise you a treasure. But, afterwards, that treasure never arrives for real and your soul is lost forever in her clutches and never again do any ancestors greet you, because they don’t recognize you anymore.”

His words made me shudder. I did not know what to say. Then, as we came to the Wool Square, Rogan slid Little Wolf to the ground and said:

“If you want me to go with you to get that witch’s gold, Sharpy, we need to talk first.”

I understood he meant to speak in private. With a sigh, I nodded. We left Manras and Dil with Little Wolf, and I followed the Priest into the square. It was almost deserted, for the gwaks had found other, warmer havens as winter approached. At last we stopped by the well, and I said bluntly:

“This whole soul-selling thing is a slugbonery. The witch didn’t buy anything from me.”

The Priest huffed.

“And you’re going to make me believe that she gave you the fifteen goldies just like that. You don’t have to explain it to me. I just want to know if you’ve blundered through and made a dangerous deal with that witch.”

He didn’t want me to explain it to him?, I repeated to myself, surprised. I shook my head vigorously.

“No. Nothing dangerous. She’s very old and… she wants me to give Little Wolf a future, that’s all.”

There was silence.

“She wants you to give him a future,” Rogan repeated in a whisper.

I cleared my throat.

“Yes. Me. Well, are we going or not?” I asked, impatient.

Rogan sighed.

“You must know what you’re doing. But I’m staying in the alley.”

I smiled.

“Coldpalm is not a bad witch,” I assured him. “She’ll even make us rich!”

I turned my back on him to call the troop, and we resumed our march. The deeper we went into the heart of the Labyrinth, the more tension we felt. We could tell that people were not walking around as quietly as they used to. At one point, a group of hooded men with weapons passed us, and we stuck to the wall, holding our breaths. As soon as we lost sight of them, we hurriedly made a detour so as to not come across them again.

After going through a lot of corridors, climbing ladders, crossing bridges and taking stairs carved out of the rock, we finally arrived at Death Row. It was so well hidden that I surprisingly felt safer and thought that, just as the Labyrinth was the heart of the Cats, this area was the heart of the Labyrinth.

We stopped at the crossroads and looked around. Everything seemed to be deserted. I cast a spell of harmonic light, made sure that all five of us were there, and finally, silently, I entered the Death Row, followed by my companions, tense as needles.

21 Traitors of traitors of traitors

Like the last time, there was no sign of life in the Death Row. Not a rat, not a cat, not a mouse. Perhaps… because of the energy in the air? The discovery left me speechless for a moment. In fact, there was a strange energy in the corridor that I had not noticed the last two times. Witchcraft, I thought. Then I remembered Rogan’s words about the soul being snatched by witches, and my heart quickened. I was so engrossed that only when Dil whispered worriedly “Sharpy?” did I get moving and walk the last few yards to the back door.

Without letting go of Little Wolf’s hand, I knocked on the door. I immediately frowned. Damn, I hadn’t thought of that, but how was Coldpalm going to open the door without Little Wolf? Could she even move from her sofa in her condition?

I was just about to summon up the courage to grasp the handle when suddenly it turned and opened very slowly.

“Four-Hundred. Who are the ones behind you?”

My jaw dropped.

“Gee,” I let out. It was Le Bor! Unlike me, he didn’t seem surprised to see me. I hissed through my teeth. “Oh, Bo… uh… I mean, sir,” I corrected, choking. “These are my friends. What are you doing here?”

The ruffian’s face was barely visible. I heard him sigh and open the door further as he explained:

“Getting all my papers. Come on in. Coldpalm told me about a rather special deal.”

I entered with Little Wolf and saw Le Bor hurry to close the door before one of my companions had the idea of crossing the threshold too.

“Little Wolf,” whispered the voice of Coldpalm. Her voice sounded even weaker than the day before.

The blond boy, feeling he was on familiar ground, let go of my hand, rushed to the sofa and hugged the necromancer, who let out a soft purr of affection.

“Kid,” she whispered. “That’s the last time you’ll ever hug me, you know? It’s better this way. You’ll live with the living. You’ll play with kids your own age. You’ll see the sun every day. You may not speak with your tongue, but you’ll speak with your heart.”

Her voice trembled and broke. I stood in shock by the sofa and watched as her dark figure embraced the little boy. Then I saw her raise a large hand, and suddenly a very faint light shone from it and floated away across the room.

“There, young man,” she pronounced. “There, under that concealed trapdoor, you will find a total of eight hundred and forty siatos in whitewheels or goldies. It’s not as much as I’d like, but… it’s all I’ve got for Little Wolf.” She let her hand fall back, but the light in the corner of the room did not go out. In a whisper, she said, “Remember, Shyuli, that I saved your life. Now save this poor creature’s, whatever it takes.”

There was a brief silence, during which I looked puzzled at the figure of Le Bor, standing in the middle of the room, and at the great mass of the witch. Blasthell. So Coldpalm was asking him to take care of Little Wolf too? Finally, the ruffian cleared his throat and answered with unusual solemnity:

“I will, ma’am. I promise.”

I saw in the gloom that Coldpalm was nodding slowly.

“Keep your word.”

This sounded both like a command and a blessing. The witch then turned her magical green eye towards me and said in a very faint voice:

“Shyuli will help you too, boy. He promised me…”

She stopped suddenly, taking a breath of air, and her body jerked. I thought for a moment that she was going to die right there before my horrified eyes, but then she explained in an alarmed croak:

“People. More people in the Death Row.”

She had scarcely spoken when I heard a child’s cry outside which sent a chill through my veins. Quick as a flash, I rushed to the door.

“Don’t open!” Le Bor shouted.

I did not open the door. I had no time for that: the door flew open and hooded men entered, pushing my companions inside. Some of them had weapons in their hands, others were holding torches which lit up the whole interior. I hurried back with Manras, Dil, and Rogan to the back of the room, and we huddled there as best we could, our mouths closed and our eyes wide open. Good mother, who were those guys?

One of them, in a green hood, barked:

“Witch!” And he continued in a mocking tone, “What the hell is this? People are paying you with gwaks now?”

I glanced at the sofa, and when I saw the witch, I could not help making a face of horror. Though wrapped in her clothes, Coldpalm was a monstrous sight. She was frightening to behold, and from the indecisive gestures of some of the intruders, I knew that they too were afraid. But not the one in the green hood, apparently.

“Gowbur,” Coldpalm pronounced calmly.

Where was Little Wolf? And where was Le Bor? No matter how hard I bent my neck, I couldn’t see them anywhere. None of those present seemed to see them. I squinted my eyes. Could it be that Coldpalm was cloaking them with some spell? Unless they had time to slip under that hidden trapdoor… I tried very hard not to look towards that place and kept my eyes fixed on Coldpalm.

I blinked at the light of a torch that one of the hooded men passed in front of us, as if to make sure we were not going to move. Pff. How were we going to move with so many weapons out? The knife forgotten in my pocket would hardly make any difference. I breathed in. Well, that’s good. So, the one in the green hood was Gowbur, the same one who had sworn to “rip Frashluc’s brains out” the day before, according to the regulars at the Drawer. It wasn’t so surprising that Gowbur had business with Coldpalm… But that they had arrived just as we were there was really unlucky.

“Refusing my offer was a very bad idea, witch,” Gowbur resumed.

He had not drawn his weapon: he held a torch in his hand and walked around the miserable, smelly room with apparent tranquillity. His face was not visible: he wore a muffler and had a large hood. One of the men who were wielding a sword stood beside us and looked at us with a wry smile as Gowbur continued.

“If you continue to work for those of Frashluc, I’ll tear your head off. If you don’t give me the names of your customers, I’ll tear your head off. You hear me, demon? It’s your choice.”

Coldpalm did not seem to be frightened. Her right eye was hidden under a cloth, but the other shone with the same intensity as my nakrus master’s eyes. She opened her huge, lip-less mouth and answered in a voice full of venom:

“If you feel so strongly about tearing my head off, Gowbur: do it. But remember: your quarrels with Frashluc are not my concern. I accept the tasks I want, and the one you asked me to do, unfortunately, I will not be able to fulfill… because I am dying, Gowbur. If you want to put me out of my misery, do it. I have done all I have to do in this life. Come on, Gowbur,” she added, mockingly, as he said nothing. “Draw that sword and kill me. And, afterwards, go and kill Frashluc. Your former companions. Your kindred spirits. As wretched as you,” she spat. “Vice and lust have made you more terrible monsters than Coldpalm. The Bifid Witch.”

The necromancer uncovered her teeth, perfect, white teeth in the middle of a misshapen mouth. Without coming any closer to the sofa than necessary, Gowbur snorted.

“You say you’re dying? Like hell you are. You’ve been dying for years. What’s stopping you from answering my question, witch? Has Frashluc been to see you, yes or no, how many times and why? I have my suspicions, and I want to know. I want to know everything.”

He brought the torch to the witch’s face and demanded:

“Speak, witch!”

At her silence, he gave an annoyed grunt.

“Frashluc did not kill my brother’s murderer,” Gowbur declared sharply. “He cleared him and gave him false papers to keep me from following his trail. He cleared him because he hired him! Deny it if you can!” he roared.

This time, Coldpalm sighed.

“I’m not saying it’s not true and I’m not asserting it either because I don’t know. Frashluc doesn’t give me an explanation when he places an order with me. And he pays more for it, but he can afford it. It’s one of the perks of being the biggest scoundrel in the Cats—”

“Shut up!” Gowbur cut her off. He was still pointing the torch at her, and unconsciously I shuddered as if the flames would burn me, not the witch. He hissed: “Maybe you don’t know the details, but you know the name. You know names. And I’ve come to make you spit them out.”

At that moment, there was a creak. We all turned our heads towards the door. The intruders had closed it on their way in, and through the crack under it a piece of paper had just appeared. For an instant, no one moved. Then Gowbur made a sudden gesture, and one of his companions bent down to pick up the paper. He glanced at it, and we heard him inhale sharply.

“What is it?” Gowbur growled, impatiently.

The other passed him the sheet and whispered:

“We’re in trouble.”

That did not seem to unsettle Gowbur. He shrugged and, to my amazement, turned to us and said:

“Gwaks. You can get out. You are free.”

I stood there staring at them, my mouth agape, as they all moved away from the door. I couldn’t believe it. Free, I repeated to myself. Really? We were still recalcitrant and unbelieving, so Gowbur drew his sword. They opened the door for us, and we went out as fast as we could.

“Halt!”

The voice came not from behind, but from ahead: the end of the Death Row was full of people and lanterns. And crossbows. I widened my eyes and, like an echo, shouted:

“Stop!”

I threw myself at Dil and slammed him to the ground. Rogan and Manras followed almost immediately, and in the stupid hope that they wouldn’t see us, I cast a harmonic shadow spell. But what shadows! I had never expended so much energy, widening and widening the outline to conceal us, to make them forget us… Yeah, sure, I thought then. We were on the floor in a corridor, in the middle of the “battle,” how the blasthell could they possibly forget us?

“Watch out, Frashluc, our gwaks have explosives!” a baritone voice suddenly shouted behind us.

And a demonic laugh rang out before Gowbur resumed:

“The witch told me everything! Everything! Maybe you’ll slaughter us, but your men won’t kill me before they know you’re a traitor, a eunuch, and a—”

Something whistled over our heads, and there was the slamming of a door as it slammed shut. I was so focused on making more and more shadows that I did not even pay attention to Gowbur’s lies. I did, however, catch the next cry:

“Don’t shoot! They’re friends of mine! Please don’t shoot!”

It was Diver’s voice. A dry voice from the crossbowmen’s side answered him:

“Then tell that idiot to undo his spell!”

A sound of protest was heard, followed by a:

“Don’t come any closer, maybe it’s true they have explosives.”

Rogan swore with a desperate cry:

“We don’t have any explosives!”

Footsteps sounded in the complete darkness. Neither the Moon nor the Gem could penetrate my harmonic shadows.

“Draen!” Diver called. “Draen! Please undo that spell. You cast it, didn’t you? Undo it, or they’ll shoot to keep you from approaching. Please, answer.”

“Draen, just answer!” Rogan growled.

The Priest lay beside me and shook my shoulder. Only then did I realize that I was shaking like a leaf.

“I c-can’t,” I stammered in an exhausted whisper. “I c-can’t hold it anymore.”

And indeed, I could not hold it anymore: my energy stem, cut at the root, was completely consumed. I don’t remember ever having consumed it so much in my life: even my right hand didn’t respond. Exhausted, I stopped holding my spell. It unraveled, and more quickly than I had expected. The light penetrated the darkness, and I could see Diver walking the last few yards with a torch in his hand. He came up to us and said in a high-pitched voice:

“Swear to me by all the ancestors that you don’t have explosives.”

I shook my head, but it was Rogan who continued to say:

“We don’t. I swear it by my ancestors, Draen’s and Manras’ and Dil’s. I swear it. Gowbur lied like a miscreant. Oh, blasthell,” he swore. “I think Manras has fainted.”

I groped, looked by the light of the torch, and found that, indeed, Manras was not moving. Horror overcame me as I imagined that he was dead, and my head became even more dizzy, and I sat up half against the wall and groaned:

“Elassar, I want to get out of here!”

“Calm down, shyur!” the Priest cut me off, taking me firmly by the shoulder, and he looked up. “Diver. These people, are they Frashluc’s?”

“All round,” Diver confirmed. “And… I have to search you, if you don’t mind.”

Still dazed and confused by my grandiose spell, I smacked my forehead with my fist and vaguely remembered that Diver had said he was now running errands in the Cats’ taverns. Yeah, right… errands for Frashluc, after all.

Diver searched us efficiently, took the knives away and returned to Frashluc’s men before returning and saying:

“Come.”

We got up, and as I was not at my best, Rogan and Dil took charge of carrying Manras. It was not easy to walk to the crossbows, not so much because I was afraid, for in my daze I could not really be afraid, but because it seemed to me that I was always coming and never could arrive. I remembered a story which my nakrus master had told me long ago, and I murmured in Caeldric:

“Like the oasis… It’s like the oasis.” And I added even lower, “Ferilompard.”

Behind us, at the end of Death Row, all was silent. I didn’t wonder what Gowbur and his people were doing, and I didn’t even think about Little Wolf and Le Bor: the world had turned into a bubble that only Elassar, the oasis, and I were entering. I didn’t even have the strength left to summon the squirrels.

As soon as we passed the line of three crossbowmen who closed the corridor, a gloved hand seized me by the arm and pushed me towards the wall, without violence but with firmness.

“This boy’s the Black Dagger, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Diver confirmed.

My captor’s eyes glowed slightly under his hood.

“Answer, Black Dagger. Were you working for Gowbur?”

I stared at him without understanding his question. After a moment’s silence, he slammed me against the wall, this time with less friendliness. This did not help to clear my head, on the contrary. Diver intervened:

“Sir. He’s spaced-out.”

“Or he’s pretending to be so,” the other growled.

At that moment, a series of shouts were heard at the end of the Death Row.

“Don’t shoot! Gowbur is dead, the witch killed him!”

“We surrender, don’t shoot!”

“We surrender!”

“What pathetic rebels,” my captor muttered.

He turned his attention from me to those who were surrendering, and I struck my forehead with my fist again, knowing that I had to do something, but I couldn’t decide what. To run away, perhaps? By the time the idea came to me, however, the racket of voices had died down, I saw figures, unarmed and bound, passing before me… and someone grabbed me and invited me to follow the procession. It was only when I reached the end of the alleyway through which they were leading me that I thought of my cronies and stopped dead in my tracks. And, without warning, I filled my lungs with air and shouted:

“MANRAAAS! DIIIL!”

I wanted to turn back, and I received a good beating.

“Can you shut up?” Frashluc’s man hissed at me.

Shut up, I repeated to myself. Shut up? No, I would not shut up. I clung to my guide’s cloak and shouted:

“Good mother, the bones! I see their bones! My cronies! Bones! Bones…!”

At that moment, my words had more meaning for me than a holy truth. But my guide did not seem to understand my anguish very well, for at that moment, he and another drove me against the wall and put a cloth in my mouth—I almost choked on it—then they gagged me while I kicked like a madman and kept shouting “bones!”, but my screams were now only muffled moans. Unable to scream, my eyes wept with terror all the way to the Frashluc Guild.

22 I’m not a traitor

I did not sleep a wink all night. They had put me, Rogan, and the surrendered men in a cellar. The latter had their hands and feet bound, but not Rogan or me. At Rogan’s request the gag was even removed, and I think he must have regretted it, for I hardly let him sleep. The truth is, I did not let anyone sleep in the cellar, for I was running wild. Sometimes I would cry and scream and call my comrades, sometimes I would sing or rave and stammer, sometimes in Drionsan, other times in Caeldric… It didn’t matter what I was talking about: after a while, nobody paid any attention to what I was saying: they were all more than fed up with me, and if those fellows hadn’t been tied up, I probably wouldn’t have survived that night. If Frashluc had been looking for a suitable torture for his lost sheep, he wouldn’t have found anything better.

In the end, spurred on by the advice of the others as to how to apply the fist against my “snotty face” at the proper speed, Rogan decided to act. He put his arms on my shoulders as I sang.

Ahoy! Ahoy!
My beautiful elf,
ahoy! Ahoy!
I love you always…

I collapsed under the weight of the Priest; he forced me to crouch, and I received a blow in the stomach which cut off my breath and left me on the brink of throwing up the half loaf of bread I had eaten that day. I received another blow, and perplexed and confused, I gasped:

“You’re hurting me… hurting me, pal.”

Girding me from behind, Rogan put his other hand on my forehead. He almost poked me in the eye and sighed.

“Will you shut up, Sharpy? If you shut up, I won’t hit you. Does it run? You’re insufferable. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I hope you’ll get better soon. Come on, lie down, that’s it, and now be quiet, okay?” he said, placing his hand under my jaw as if to prevent me from serenading again. “Oh blasthell,” he muttered. “Now you’re crying? But what the blasthell is the matter with you, shyur? Was it that spell that made you lose your noggin?”

“The witch must have put a spell on him,” one of the adults growled.

“Shut up, please, shut up, everyone,” another begged. “I want to sleep…!”

Another, who had been silent for some time, uttered a snarl of deep irritation.

“That’s enough, you damned demon! By my Spirit, the beating I’m going to give this gwak as soon as my paws are free!”

Feeling completely alien to the threat, I sobbed:

“My cronies…”

“Your cronies are fine, Sharpy; Diver said he’d take care of them, I’ve told you that twenty thousand times!” Rogan exasperated. And he gave me a little tap on the head. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

I wanted to ask, “but where are the bones?” However, at that moment, a flash of insight made me wonder if my question was reasonable and… I was left confused. I was lost. Forgetting to cry, I gazed at the darkness of the place with increasing confusion until, almost at once, I fell asleep. Even if my companions had shouted victory cries, those probably would not have woken me up.

I had a nightmare. Everything started well: I was sitting on the banks of the river of Estergat, on the step of a staircase that went down to the docks. I was carrying a big basket full of fish bones. I picked them up one by one, threw them into the river, and they came back to life and swam again as they had always done. It was pure joy to see them flicking their tails underwater… So far, so good. The problem came when, looking up, I saw Kakzail in fly uniform, leading Dakis with a leash. Both of them were baring their teeth and growling at me. Frightened, I leapt to my feet, slipped, fell into the river, and began to flail about in dismay as a small voice reminded me: you cannot swim, Mor-eldal, you cannot swim! Kakzail and the dog, against all odds, were trying to save me, but I was already at the bottom, in the middle of the fish bones that swirled around me, curious, without understanding that I, unlike them, needed to breathe, without understanding that I was dying…

I received a blow from a very large bony tail. Then another. And another. The river water was shaking me like a plum tree.

“Put some Lezia pepper in his mouth! He’ll wake up with a bang,” a voice said.

It was as if my tongue had caught fire. Someone handed me a glass of water, and I took long sips, my eyes wide open. At last, I looked around me. I had been carried out of the cellar into a well-lit room with bay windows that looked out on to a terrace. There was a large table with three people sitting around it. Two were playing by moving pieces on a checkerboard. And the third man, the oldest, was watching me. He was a pudgy, middle-aged white human dressed as an old-fashioned nail-pincher… Could it be Frashluc? It had to be. However, the mere possibility filled me with apprehension. Well, it wasn’t every day that I came face to face with the biggest kap of the Cats.

A hand took the empty glass I was holding, and I looked away from Frashluc to meet the red eyes of the fourth man in the room. He looked familiar, and when I realized why, I gasped in disbelief. I had seen that man at The Drawer more than once. His name was Jarvik. And they called him the Albino. Because he had very white skin and hair. He was theoretically a dark elf, but he didn’t look like one. As I stared at him, Jarvik gave me a slight embarrassed smile, and Frashluc said:

“I’ve always said this pepper works wonders. Good afternoon, Draen Hilemplert. Please sit down.”

Glancing cautiously at Frashluc, I saw that he pointed to one of the chairs beside him, and I stood up and replied politely:

“Good afternoon, sir.”

My tongue was still burning from the pepper, and my answer sounded wheezy. I walked into the living room and was already sitting in the chair when I turned pale and repeated to myself: good afternoon? Good “afternoon”? I could see the face of the director of the Swallow when he saw that I had not shown up at the office all morning. Good mother… Without thinking about it, I plunged my hand into the pocket where I kept my asofla. Pulling out a stem and stuffing it in my mouth, I thought it was lucky that no one had taken it from me. Perhaps Diver had explained the matter and… Of course, I thought. Frashluc knew all about the sokwata, the alchemist, and the asofla. How could he not? According to those at The Drawer, he had even received some of what the Black Hawk had earned from the salbronix beads. He knew everything.

As the nail-pincher was at that moment busy lighting a pipe, I turned my attention to the two persons playing with the board. They clearly looked like Frashluc, but younger. One was probably my age or not much older. Perhaps sensing my interest, the one with the pipe said:

“This is my son, Darys Frashluc. And my grandson, Lowen Frashluc. I hope,” he continued, “that you have recovered from your apathetic seizure.”

That’s what my teacher used to call it, too: apathetic seizure. I’d already had one when I was eight years old, while trying to revive a bird’s skeleton. I had misused my energy stem, I had been too stubborn and, bang, I had been delirious for days. After I recovered, my master had given me a dressing-down like he had never done before. According to him, I could have remained apathetic and stupid forever. From that day on, I had given up risky experiments and it had never happened to me again. Until last night. Fortunately, I had recovered quickly… hadn’t I?

Concerned, I asked:

“That was last night? Coldpalm and Gowbur, I mean. It was last night, wasn’t it?”

Frashluc arched an eyebrow and stuck the tip of his pipe between his lips before nodding, much to my relief.

“Last night, yes,” he confirmed. “A night to remember. It took the life of a traitor and the life of a witch some thought immortal. I would have given ten thousand siatos for her to live another ten years. It’s not easy to find a good celmist in the underworld.”

I bit my lip under his watchful eye. I couldn’t really feel sad about this news because… well, Coldpalm had lived longer than any sajit of flesh and bone. On the other hand, I was really worried about Little Wolf. That’s because I was supposed to wake up the morjas of his bones every day. Even so, I didn’t dare ask Frashluc if he knew anything and waited in silence. Finally, Frashluc said:

“Listen, kid. I called you here because I’d like to ask you a few questions. We’ll make this quick, okay?”

“It runs, sir,” I agreed, without much enthusiasm.

“Tell me what you and your companions were doing at Coldpalm’s,” the kap demanded.

The son and grandson continued to play silently. The Albino had sat down at the other end of the table and was cleaning his nails with his dagger. I took off my cap, scratched my head furiously, and said, first indecisively, then in the tone of an oratorical gwak:

“Well… I, sir… You see. First of all, let’s make it clear: we, my companions and I, have nothing to do with Gowbur, eh? Really nothing at all. Just to be clear. It just so happens that we were going to see Coldpalm, to visit her. Because there was a little boy there that we liked. When we arrived, I went in and Coldpalm told me that Little Wolf was not there, that he had gone with someone else. So I ask her: where is he? And then, just at that moment, these isturbags arrive, the Green Hood asks the witch to spit everything out, and then, you arrive with the paper under the door, and Gowbur tells us: you are free. Free, your mother! Talk about a lying scoundrel! He sent us straight to the crossbows and tells bigger lies than I do. Uh… well, then you caught us. And that’s it,” I concluded, looking as if to say that, frankly, there was nothing more to pierce.

Frashluc had remained unmoved during my story, but as I finished I saw his lips curl slightly under his grey moustache.

“Brilliant story, kid,” he said finally. “Brilliant.”

I replied with an indecisive smile, not knowing if he was making fun of me or paying me a compliment.

“You only missed one character,” Frashluc added, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Le Bor.” I blinked, looking as if to say: blasthell. He continued with obvious amusement, “What a surprise it was when we found him at the witch’s house, in the company of that Little Wolf and eight hundred and forty goldies. He says he’s not a traitor, and he told us that Coldpalm wanted to leave him the money to take care of the brat. You have to admit, kid, that’s a lot of coincidence. Anybody would think you were all there to try to pull the wool over Coldpalm’s eyes, bleed her dry, and maybe even kill her, in order to avenge the innocent and valiant Gowbur.”

His face had grown stern, and I looked at him, horrified, as he added in the tone of one who asks which is the capital of Arkolda:

“Do you know what I do with traitors, gwak? I gut them, rip out their hearts and brains, and feed them to the dogs. With those who surrender, I do the same, unless they bow very low and I’m in a good mood: then I give them a caning they’ll remember all their lives. And with their accomplices, again, I do the same. Do you want to see it?”

I shook my head, speechless.

“No,” Frashluc approved. “Maybe you want me to give Le Bor back the eight hundred and forty siatos he wanted to take away. Maybe you want me to leave you alone, and also leave in peace your companions who saw the whole scene last night.”

This time I nodded, hopeful, and said:

“I swear I didn’t know Gowbur—”

“Silence,” Frashluc interrupted. “I have no proof, and I don’t feel like believing you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an accomplice. But you are also a Black Dagger. And, as such, you will pay by doing me a favor.”

I looked at him expectantly. What on earth was that kap going to ask me now? Why wouldn’t he believe me when I told him I was innocent?

“You know the house on Bone Street where Korther sometimes hides, right?”

His question made me frown.

“Natural,” I confirmed.

“You know your kap’s real name?” Frashluc questioned.

My eyes widened.

“No, sir,” I whispered.

“Mm,” Frashluc meditated, looking at me carefully. “Do you know where he lives?”

I shook my head negatively. It was true. I knew nothing about Korther except that he was, almost without a doubt, a demon.

Frashluc then pulled a pendant from under his shirt and smiled, showing it to me. It was shaped like a diamond, like the ten-nail coins, except larger and with a very light grey diamond in the middle.

“When it hears a lie, it vibrates and turns orange,” Frashluc informed me. And he said, by way of demonstration, “I am mute.”

And the diamond turned orange for a moment. I shuddered in disbelief. What kind of magara was that?

“Answer: have you ever stolen for Korther?”

I swallowed, glanced nervously at the pendant, and nodded:

“I have, sir.”

“How many times?”

It took me a few seconds to calculate to:

“Three. Three times, sir.”

“And those three times, did you disable any traps, did you use any picklocks?”

“And I made duplicate keys, sir,” I added, with a touch of pride.

“So, you’re a Black Dagger expert,” Frashluc smiled. The pendant turned orange, and I swallowed. Gosh. “Not so expert,” he corrected. “Tell me, where do you know Le Bor from?”

The change of subject left me confused.

“I-I… Le Bor… I know him from Carnation.”

“You were in the same cell.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you helped him escape. Tell me, do you have any regard for Le Bor?”

After glancing at the son and grandson and meeting the latter’s eyes, I shrugged.

“Natural, I do.”

Frashluc leaned back in his chair, glanced at his son and grandson, and said:

“Then, if you love him so much, you don’t want me to condemn him to the stick. And maybe you also want me to release your mate in the hat, Rogan, don’t you?”

I felt my heart clench painfully. I whispered:

“Don’t hurt them, sir.”

“No,” Frashluc relented. “Not if you bring me… that diamond.”

He reached for a newspaper on the table and showed me a picture of a precious stone. I spelt out the title in a low voice, and it said in large letters:

‘THE WIND TEAR HAS BEEN STOLEN AT THE CONSERVATORY’

I was amazed. The design was exactly like the transparent sixteen-faceted diamond I had stolen in the spring. I didn’t dare look up and pretended to read the article. I was so afraid of the pendant and its little grey stone, so afraid that Frashluc might ask me to rob Korther… that I began to tremble. Not much. A little. But Frashluc noticed.

“You recognize the diamond,” he murmured. He even seemed surprised.

I nodded silently and suddenly had a great idea.

“Sir!” I exclaimed. “If this thing detects lies, it would turn orange if I said I was a traitor. And it wouldn’t change color if I said my mates and Le Bor had nothing to do with Gowbur. So I’m saying, we have nothing to do with Gowbur. You see? Do you see?” I enthused. “I’m not a…”

I fell silent when, in horror, I saw the pendant turn orange. Then it turned green. Blue. Purple. Frashluc laughed, and the grandson did the same, covering his mouth with one hand. I felt the blood rush to my head.

“You lied to me,” I accused him.

Frashluc frowned and pounded his fist on the table.

“Enough of the pleasantries. I need that diamond. I want that diamond. And I know Korther has it. Only a Black Dagger could have walked into the Conservatory in broad daylight and stolen the Wind Tear. Korther denied he had it. But I know he has it. And, you, you will steal it for me.”

I gave him a blank look. My mouth was dry. I thought of Le Bor. I thought of my cronies. Of Rogan, who was still in the hands of Frashluc. Of Little Wolf, who needed me. And, slowly, I nodded and looked away nervously at the newspaper and the print. Korther was going to hate me for this. He was going to hate me maybe more than he hated Yerris. Unless… Unless he didn’t find out. Then he wouldn’t punish me. And no one but the Frashluc family and the Albino would know what I had done.

I heard Frashluc’s amused voice whisper:

“You’re not a traitor.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his pendant turn more orange than ever. I bit my tongue. He was laughing at me. Damn nail-pincher.

23 The Wind Tear and the lady

Frashluc sent me with Jarvik to get some supplies, and as soon as I got up, Lowen, the grandson, asked his grandfather for permission to go with us. The grandfather gave it to him. The three of us went down a number of stairs to a room where Jarvik handed me back my prison release booklet and the knives Rogan had bought the day before. He presented me with a set of picklocks, and Lowen wanted to lend me some gloves that he said had belonged to a notorious thief from Veliria. Unsurprisingly, they proved too big for me, and the Albino had to put them back in a trunk.

“That’s a real shame,” Lowen sighed. “You would have looked really cool with them!”

I looked at him curiously, and suddenly I thought that the boy, far from wanting to make fun of me, was trying to fraternize with me. Fraternize with me! He who was dressed as if he were going to run for Parliament!

As the Albino was busy closing the trunk, Lowen approached me and whispered:

“Hey, tell me…”

“What?”

“Is it true that you created shadows?”

His eyes shone with curiosity. I nodded casually.

“Well, natural I did.”

He smiled, excited.

“Will you show me?”

I arched an eyebrow, and after checking that Jarvik’s back was to us, I created a small cloud of darkness. A very small cloud, because my energy stem was still moribund. Lowen’s face lit up nonetheless. He glanced quickly at Jarvik and whispered:

“Can you speak Owram?”

I squinted an eye. Was he trying to tell me something he didn’t want the Albino to understand? I shrugged.

“No. That’s the language of nail-pinchers.”

I said it in a slightly scornful tone, but Lowen Frashluc took no offence. He nodded, smiled, and with the proud expression of one who utters a new word, he replied:

“Natural.”

Amused, I returned his smile and looked him up and down. He didn’t look like a bad guy, despite his attire. Taking advantage of the fact that the Albino was pushing the trunk under a piece of furniture, Lowen said to me so low that even I almost didn’t hear him:

“Say. Can I go with you? To steal the Wind Tear. I want to go with you,” he reaffirmed.

I stared at him. He wanted to help me steal the diamond? Once the surprise wore off, I frowned, looked unconvinced, and then answered:

“You know where Rogan is? My mate,” I specified. He nodded with a mixture of fear and excitement in his eyes. Without thinking much about it, I decided, “Well, bring him whatever he asks. If you do, I’ll take you with me. Does it run?”

Lowen opened his mouth, saw that the Albino was already heading across the room towards us, and nodded.

“Okay. My room is on the first floor, near the old cherry tree. It has red curtains.”

I hardly suppressed a smile and nodded. He hesitated before extending a hand like a gentleman. My smile widened, and I shook it. He was wearing gloves.

“Eh. Give me your gloves and I may even call you mate,” I said.

“No way,” the Albino interjected, joining us. “Don’t give him anything, Lowen. Surely you don’t want to displease your mother.”

The little nail-pincher, who had already started to take off his gloves, put them back on, looking half saddened and half frightened. I rolled my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” I assured him. “It was just to replace the gloves of the famous thief Kaproko… Kapre…”

“Karabi,” Lowen helped me, chuckling.

The Albino cleared his throat with a patient pout.

“Let’s get out, boys,” he urged us.

We left the room, and the Albino led us to the main door. He put a coin in my hand. It was a gold coin.

“In case you need to buy something else. Remember, the longer it takes, the worse it’ll be for you. Good luck.”

I saw a glint of compassion in his eyes. Strangely enough, this worried me more than any threat. I glanced at Lowen and saw that he, on the other hand, seemed hopeful. With a pout, I slipped the coin into one of my pockets, turned the door handle, and said in a low tone, addressing no one in particular:

“Ah, if anything happens to my comrade, I’ll roar like a dragon, is that clear? Ayo.”

And I got out. I almost stopped dead when I saw that the Stone Park lay in front of me. Gosh. I turned around. The building where Frashluc lived was right on the border between the quarter of Atuerzo and the Cats. I didn’t know if that was where Rogan was. Who knows, maybe they had transported me asleep through the entire Cat Quarter. Or maybe not. I had no idea. In any case, I doubted that the night before Frashluc had brought his entire retinue of traitors through that door. I turned my head to the right, to the left, and saw that there was indeed a cherry tree growing there, in a small green space near the house. And that the window in front of it, on the first floor, had red curtains. I breathed in the cold afternoon air. Well. The little nail-pincher had better take care of the Priest like a king.

I walked away down the wide street that surrounded the park, down the stairs, and into the Cat Quarter. The first thing I did was to go to The Wind Rose and ask for: a snack, Mr. Tavern-keeper! And I put the goldy on the counter. He gave me back eighty-five cents, and I walked out of there tearing fierce bites out of my meal. Good mother, I was so hungry! So hungry, in fact, that when I passed a sweet shop, I went in, bought a few and gobbled them up on my way to the river to replenish my supply of asofla. I went down and down and down the Rock, with a step that was more steady than energetic. By the time I reached the bottom, it was already dark. The asofla was growing in great quantities on the bank just beside the Moon Bridge. It was deserted, for there was no dyke or promenade, but small vegetable gardens, trees, and brushwood. I hurried to pick the asofla, and no sooner had I put a stalk in my mouth than I heard a loud voice:

“Hey!”

A dark elf wearing peasant clothes came out of a vegetable garden and rushed towards me shouting like a desperate man:

“Spit it out, you idiot, it’s poison!”

I legged it. I ran, scraped my skin against the brushes, poked my foot with something, and finally arrived at the Moon Square. To my amazement, the man kept shouting behind me. Demons, how could that elf be so worried about my health?

Hearing the shouts and seeing me being chased, a fly came running with the clear intention of trying to stop me. I avoided him, stumbled on another fly, and put my hands to my head, shouting:

“A madman’s chasing me! A madman’s chasing me!”

The fly on which I stumbled took me by the arm and shook me so that I would stop screaming. Finally, I fell silent. And it was fortunate, because, thanks to the silence, the peasant was able to explain that no, I was not a thief, that he had merely seen me eat a poisonous plant.

“Asofla, the devil’s hand!” the peasant explained, altered. “Please don’t harm the poor boy.”

The officer was not harming me: he was just holding me tightly. Without retort, he reached into my most bountiful pocket, from which stems were protruding, and pulled out a handful of asofla. At once, an expression of pure amazement came over his face. He stared at me, looked at his companion, and then back at me again. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Whoa, whoa. My boy. That’s poison. I can’t believe you didn’t know that. And, if you did know, that definitely means that—”

“Do you have parents?” the companion questioned, interrupting the other fly.

I nodded without thinking and frowned in surprise. Spirits, it felt so weird to say I had parents…

“Where do they live?” asked the fly that held me. As I did not answer, he repeated his question. And, as if inspired by a sudden idea, he added, “If you don’t answer, we’ll have to find out for ourselves, and your parents will pay the expenses. You don’t want them to lose money because of you, do you?”

I shook my head, confused.

“No, sir. But I—”

“The address, kid,” the fly insisted.

His voice had softened. He was friendly and all, and in the end, I felt unable not to answer and said:

“Sunset Street, number twelve, in the Tarmil Quarter. But, sir, they don’t…”

The fly gently nudged me.

“Let’s go, kid. And quietly.”

I glanced grudgingly at the altruistic peasant who was responsible for all this, and followed the fly to the Moon Square nervously. The fly urged me to take a passing omnibus. We got on. I couldn’t believe it: it was my first time on an omnibus! Unfortunately, the trip was a real torture for me. Why had I given the barber’s address to the fly? Why had he insisted on taking me there? It was better than Carnation, of course, but… I was sure it meant a definitive “goodbye, family”. I wanted to jump out of the car and run away, but the fly was sitting next to me. He would have grabbed me immediately and, who knows, maybe he would have gotten angry and had the idea to search me. And then he would have found the picklocks and the two knives. And, bang, back to Carnation for who knows how long.

The Avenue was crowded with people going up and down, talking in small groups, going in and out of taverns. We got off. There was still light in the shop, and through the window I could see that the barber was combing the hair of an old man who seemed to me to be almost bald.

“Hold still,” the fly demanded, looking exasperated.

I stopped fidgeting, and my heart began to beat faster when the fly knocked on the door. It was Samfen who opened it.

“Good evening, boy. May I speak to your father?” the fly asked.

Samfen was speechless. Finally, he managed to stammer out:

“F-Father? It’s the police.”

After a moment’s silence, we heard footsteps approaching rapidly, and the barber appeared. His eyes pierced me like arrows. Only a few seconds. But the seconds seemed like centuries. Then he looked around the street, looked very gloomy, perhaps because there was some neighbor watching the scene with curiosity, and then he spoke to the fly, wished him “good evening” in a voice from beyond the grave, and invited him to pass. We went in. The fly told him what had happened in the tone of one who says: your son tried to commit suicide, but don’t worry, it’s not so serious, surely a good beating will fix everything, I’m sure you’re a good father. The barber paid for the omnibus rides and the “inconvenience”, the fly patted me gently on the shoulder and walked away, leaving me to face the terrible look of the barber, the frown of the old customer, and the shocked expression of Samfen. I did not open my mouth. The customer hurried out of there, and no doubt bringing forward the closing time, the barber turned the sign to close the shop, pushing the locks, pulling the curtains, and telling Samfen to take the lantern. Then he pointed to the door at the back of the room with an imperative finger.

I went forward thinking that, if a look could kill, at that moment I would have been spirited in a peace-and-virtue.

The dining room was empty except for the nine-year-old—or so—little brother, who was sitting at the table, writing in a notebook, looking bored. He looked at us as we entered, his eyes wide.

“Sarova, go to your room,” the father ordered.

Quickly, the boy picked up his notebook, inkwell, and quill, and walked out with Samfen without a word. The barber and I were left alone. I did not lose sight of him. And with good reason. The barber went round the table and came back with long strides.

“Stupid kid!” he burst out. “You think these are ways to get attention? Trying to kill yourself? Do you even realize what it means to kill yourself, boy?” He came up in front of me and stopped, his expression half disbelieving, half angry. “Well done. I lost almost everything I earned today to pay for your stupidity! Maybe you think my kids are rich because they have a home? And my customer and the whole neighborhood…”

He suffocated. I was suffocating inside, too. As soon as I saw his hand approaching, I escaped, ran around the table, and as the barber ordered me to stop, I took out some coins which I had in my pocket:

“This is for you, sir. For you and my little brothers and sisters…”

I hurriedly took out all the coins I had, including the candy I had left, and left it all on the table. There, everything for my family. Then, cautious, I looked up and looked the barber in the eye. I looked like a beaten dog and confessed, trying to make him feel sorry for me, but with complete honesty:

“I didn’t want to be sent to the poorhouse!”

The barber was shaking his head, looking as if he were trying to calm himself and could not. Finally, he grabbed me by the neck, pushed me across half the room, opened a door, and shoved me inside, saying:

“If you try to kill yourself now, I’ll send you to the charity house myself. And the same if you open your mouth,” he warned me, seeing that I was indeed opening it.

I closed it, he shut the door; I even heard a key turn in the lock. And the footsteps went away. All around me was darkness. The faint light that came through the crack under the door barely lit anything. And with my burned-out energy stem, I dared not cast any spell. I groped around. It turned out I was in some sort of storeroom. Wherever I stepped, I bumped into something. At last, I sat down, hugged my knees, and cursed the flies, some for stealing and catching you, and others for spoiling your afternoon by trying to do good.

Blasthell.

I was seized by sneezes. Everything there smelled old. My hand touched something soft, and I imagined that I had been locked in with a monster. Then the monster turned into a corpse, and after a while my horror was so great that I decided to cast a little harmonic light, and I saw that the monster was, in fact, a basket with balls of wool, red ones, black ones, blue ones… My spell unravelled, and I said to myself: never again. Never again would I use harmonies. They were playing tricks on me, drawing squirrels and nakrus skeletons before my eyes, making me more delirious than passwhite and leaving me exhausted.

“Never again,” I murmured softly.

Time passed. The dining room filled with voices. A child shouted, “Mili! Mili!”. My mother’s voice imposed silence. There was the sound of cutlery, quieter voices, throat clearing. And then I could make out a:

“What are you going to do with him?”

There was silence, a loud sigh, and the barber’s strained reply:

“What do you want me to do. For now, tonight, he stays here.”

I shook my head. Staying here? No way. I wasn’t going to stay here locked up. Simply because I had to wake up Little Wolf’s morjas. And I had to go see my cronies. And steal a diamond for the biggest kap in the Cats. And go pick some asofla. Among other things. So, no, I wasn’t going to stay at the barber shop…

The key turned in the lock, and I looked up in surprise. I blinked and could barely see my mother’s expression before she leaned over to leave me a bowl. She seemed to be about to say something, but after a brief silence, she took a deep breath, stepped back in confusion, and closed the door, leaving me blind again.

In the dining room, the voices were now silent. My brothers had retired to their rooms, my parents to theirs, and… I to mine. I rolled my eyes, reached out, and retrieved the bowl. It was still warm. Despite the afternoon snack, I was still hungry, and I did not disdain the soup. I drank the whole thing. It wasn’t very hearty, but it tasted delicious.

After setting the empty bowl down, I stood up. I felt around for the door. I found the lock, examined it, and praying that I might not break it, I took out a picklock and began to work like the good Black Dagger that I was.

It took me a long time, but I opened it. I pushed the door open. It creaked, and I grimaced…

“Ashig?”

I jumped up. The murmur came from the right, just below a window with closed shutters. I saw a form lying on a straw mattress. Oh, no…

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“Sam,” he replied. “Samfen. You scared me to death. How…? How did you get out?”

I swallowed.

“Uh… It was open,” I lied. I quickly hid the picklock and added, “I’m leaving. I’ve got to get out.”

Samfen had risen, wrapped in his blanket. He groped his way over.

“Ashig. I don’t think that’s a good idea. At this time of day… people don’t go out, you understand me? Don’t go out. Father will get mad.”

“He already got mad,” I replied. “And he doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him either. I’m leaving.”

The door leading to the shop was open. I headed that way. Samfen followed me.

“Wait, that’s not true!” he whispered to me. “Before, I heard Father and Mother talking. Father says that… Uh… Well. They say that…”

He was silent. I had stopped near the exit door. Samfen had piqued my curiosity.

“They say what?” I asked.

Samfen hesitated.

“They say that maybe they can do something for you. That it will be better than doing nothing. That’s what they were saying. Please, Ashig,” he insisted. “Don’t go away.”

I swallowed and slid the lock open. Samfen tried to stop me, and I pushed him as I used to do with any gwak who bothered me, not hard, not gentle, but firm. My reaction seemed to hurt him. Without interfering further, he protested:

“Ashig…”

I opened the door, and there was a jingle of bells. I turned pale and looked up at the thing hanging just outside the door. Good mother, I hadn’t thought of that. Samfen said in a low voice:

“You know? I always thought we lost you because of me. Because I was sick, and you went to get the syrup and… Well, I mean… Don’t get lost again.”

For a moment, I was left speechless, even moved. But I could not wait any longer, for perhaps the barber had heard the bell. I stirred.

“I’m sorry, Samfen. I can’t stay. Really.” I stepped outside. Good mother, how cold it was on the street… I added, “Look, it’s not your fault I got lost. It was… because of the storm, the Cold One, the snow, what do I know, anyway… it wasn’t your fault.”

Suddenly, I heard footsteps and saw a light appear in the dining room. I snorted and legged it at full speed, limping a little, for my left foot was sore—something had got stuck in it during the last escapade with the peasant. Nothing serious, I supposed, but it was bothersome.

The wind was wintry, it was snowing, and the streets were almost deserted. When I entered the Cat Quarter, I searched for a hiding place in the Labyrinth for quite a while before I finally decided to leave my picklocks and knives in a rocky hollow at the end of a dead end. The first bell of the night had just rung when I arrived at The Joyful Spirit, frozen, soaked, and shivering. I did not enter the tavern: I bypassed it, entered the dead end, climbed the old stairs, and knocked on the door of Le Bor.

I pressed my ear to the wood and was about to knock again when I heard a muffled voice:

“Who is it?”

“F-Four-Hund-dred,” I said through chattering teeth.

The cold chilled my bones. There was a sound of locks, and the door opened.

“Four-Hundred,” Le Bor snorted. He hesitated. “So, in the end, they didn’t catch you. What’s the matter?”

I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking from head to toe.

“C-Can I come in?”

Le Bor sighed and nodded, stepping aside. I entered, and he hurriedly closed the door to keep out the cold. The first thing I saw was the stove giving off heat. Then the blond boy, who was sleeping placidly in the middle of a pile of blankets not far from it. I cried out:

“Little Wolf!”

And I rushed over. He was asleep, but what did that matter. I took him by the chest, hugged him, and with great care awakened the morjas in his bones. I tried to use as little energy as possible. Little Wolf did not even wake up completely: he moved his head and his hand a little, but he did not open his eyes. He looked so happy!

“Who the hell is that kid?” a voice suddenly asked.

I raised my head slightly and opened my eyes wide when I saw her. Her. The Lady of Le Bor. The Queen of Estergat. The champion of the cards. She had just slipped out of bed without any shyness, and I saw her put on a white nightgown and slippers while Le Bor answered with an embarrassed look:

“It’s Four-Hundred. I’ve told you about him before. He—”

“Of course you told me about him!” she cried. “But look at him! He’s shaking with cold! Come here, little one. Come here.”

Dumbfounded, I left Little Wolf lying there and accepted the hand the lady held out to me. I stood up. To my amazement, she began to rub my hands, looking very sorry.

“His hands are freezing! Did you see that, honey? Poor thing. And to think you saved my Shyuli from jail! It was you who filed the bars, wasn’t it? You did, didn’t you?”

I felt her warm hand on my cheek, and her emerald green eyes suddenly seemed incredibly beautiful.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, smiling at such a warm welcome. “It was me.”

She shook her head, moved.

“You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”

I nodded, and the lady continued to caress my forehead, neck, and chin, while saying:

“Poor thing. And with this cold weather! Of course we’re not going to leave you outside. You want to sleep somewhere warm, don’t you?”

“Ah, well, I do, ma’am,” I confessed.

She gave me a charming smile, took off the soaked coat, and said to Le Bor:

“Go get some water to heat it up.”

Le Bor snorted, uncomfortable.

“Honey, you’re not going to wash him now, are you?”

“He’s dirtier than a rat, of course I’ll wash him now! Go get some water,” she ordered.

Le Bor sighed, but to my surprise, he obeyed and went out with two buckets. Then the lady began to take off my clothes, and as she did so, she said to me:

“Good thing you were there to get Shyuli out of Carnation. I always tell him to watch his tongue. Insults are fine between friends, but not to rich people you don’t know. But, anyway, how thin you are! Have you eaten anything today?”

Fearing that her compassion would wane, I lied and said:

“No, ma’am.”

To my delight, she lamented:

“Nothing at all? You must be starving! As soon as Shyuli comes back, I’ll send for food,” she promised me.

I smiled and thought that, in the end, tonight, I was going to eat more than I ever had. The lady ran warm fingers over one of my bruises. She frowned, but only asked:

“Does it hurt?”

“No, ma’am, hardly,” I said, playing hard to get. A little compassion was good, but too much could be bad, too… And I admitted: “But my foot hurts. This one. The left one.”

I showed her the sole of my foot, and she said with a grimace:

“Oh dear… Looks like you stepped on something nasty, huh? That’s gotta hurt.” She squeezed with her fingernails, and I screamed. “Hey, hey, don’t complain. I’ve got it out. See? It’s a thorn from… uh… Who knows. Don’t worry, as soon as the water comes, I’ll cure it for you: I have jarafel. Jarafel cures everything!” She smiled and added curiously, “What’s all this?”

She was referring to my necklaces. Smiling again, I explained, taking them one by one:

“These are my amulets. This one is my amulet from when I was a little boy. It brings me luck. And with this one I pray to the Patron Saint. This one is a gift from my best friend. The blue one, it’s Little Wolf’s. I keep it for him just in case. And this one is so that the wolves won’t attack me.”

“I see you have more protection than a saint!” the lady laughed. “And where is this best friend?”

I opened my mouth. I closed it again. And I lowered my eyes to the ground. I didn’t dare tell her that Rogan had fallen to Frashluc. And that it was my fault. Interpreting my silence, the lady looked moved and embraced me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

“My poor little one,” she murmured.

She wrapped me in a large blanket and began to chat while putting more coal in the stove. I don’t know what she was talking about; I just listened to her cheerful voice, still transfixed by her embrace and her emerald eyes. When Le Bor returned, the lady put the water on the stove and sent her lover to get some food. He rolled his eyes but made no comment and left again. When the water was hot, the lady poured it into a large basin and said to me:

“Take off that blanket and get in there.”

I obeyed, and the beautiful lady began to soap me herself. I didn’t particularly like her shaking me with her sponge, she scrubbed very hard, the soap tasted like the devil, and it stung my eyes. When I began to fidget, to protect my face, and to mumble some “ma’am…” and “what the blasthell…”, the lady clicked her tongue and said to me: don’t move and shut up. I don’t know if it was because I was afraid that the lady of Le Bor would get angry, she who was so kind to me, but I remained very straight and kept quiet like a hero. At last, the witch threw a bucket of water over my head, just like that, without warning or anything. I screamed with a start and heard a great burst of laughter.

“I’m afraid you’ve already traumatized the boy,” Le Bor commented, amused. He arrived with a tray laden with food and placed it on the table, adding, “I remember my mother doing exactly the same thing to me. It was torture! When I tried to run away, she would chase me with the soap. One day I had pissed her off so much that she made me swallow it, did I ever tell you that, my queen?”

I breathed in the good smell and immediately my mouth watered. This tray smelled wonderful. The queen laughed as she dried my ears with a towel:

“Ah, I’m not surprised, you must have been a devil when you were a kid. You haven’t changed at all,” she joked.

“What do you mean, I haven’t changed?” Le Bor replied, feigning indignation. “If you were chasing me with the soap, I wouldn’t run away, I assure you.”

He came forward, taking the queen by the waist with evident passion. She, however, broke away, protesting:

“Behave yourself, darling. We have a guest.” And, after looking me up and down with a critical expression, she smiled, looking satisfied, wrapped the towel around me, and said, “Dinner is ready.”

I jumped out of the tub and sat down to eat the soup and a piece of trout. While I ate, the lady was busy smearing the sole of my foot with a yellowish substance. Le Bor was drumming on the table, obviously exasperated by all this profusion of kindness which was not directed at him.

When I finished, the lady took out a deck of cards, and Le Bor snorted.

“You wash him, you feed him, you take thorns out of his foot… and now you want to play cards?”

“What’s the matter, darling? You wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?” the lady teased.

She sat down at the table with the elegance of a queen, and began to deal with such rapidity that it seemed a prodigy. While we played, the lady kept on babbling: she talked about certain games that were very popular in casinos all over Estergat, about unknown people, about balls, about betting… She even revealed to me a trick for bevelling the cards, which I learned so quickly that she showered me with praise.

As the queen was unable to play without betting, we made a bet as to who would or would not sleep in the bed. Le Bor lost, and under his murderous gaze, I assured him that I didn’t mind sleeping on the floor next to Little Wolf. But the lady did not like to break the rules of betting. When I argued that there was room for the three of us, Le Bor commented through his teeth:

“You’re not making it any better, Four-Hundred.”

I gave him an apologetic pout, and he shook his head in resignation. Incredible fact: the lady was the only person I knew who could bend Le Bor’s sensitive nature. Dear Shyuli slept by the stove in Little Wolf’s blankets, and I moved Little Wolf into the bed between the lady and myself. I felt so embarrassed about Le Bor that I could hardly fall asleep. But finally I managed to relax, and slept like a blessed soul.

24 A family is worth a lot more than a wound

We were like kings under the covers. Everything was warm, cozy, wonderful. I blinked, my head buried comfortably in the pillow. Through the slits of the closed shutters a faint light seeped in, as well as the rumor of a city slowly awakening from its slumber… It would have been a wonderful awakening if Le Bor’s face had not hung over me with an expression that gave off bad vibes. I swallowed my fright, and waking suddenly, said in an innocent tone:

“Ayo, Bor…”

I blundered. Le Bor took me by the shirt he had “lent” me at the request of his lady and shook me.

“Bor, your mother, Four-Hundred!”

“Sir!” I exclaimed.

His eyes flashing, he raised a fist and waved it under my eyes, threatening.

“You will pay for that,” he growled.

I didn’t quite understand what he meant by that, but I understood that Le Bor was upset. And that the lady had already left and was not there to tell dear Shyuli to calm down. Little Wolf, already awake, was standing on a chair. He had just turned to look at us…

I reacted quickly. I got out of bed and swore:

“I’m leaving, it runs, I’m leaving!”

“Wait a minute,” Le Bor replied. He threw my clothes in my face. “Give me back the shirt, it’s mine. Coldpalm made me promise to give you a hand, not to let you use the bed where my lady sleeps! By the spirits, if you tell anyone about this, I’ll rip out your tongue and eyes, understand?”

I nodded energetically as I hastily dressed.

“Not a word, sir. Not one word. I meant no disrespect. I swear. It was the lady…”

“Accuse my lady and you’ll get one,” Le Bor warned, shaking his fist at me.

“It runs, sir,” I snorted.

I put my five necklaces back on at once, put on my cap, and took Little Wolf. I almost asked him about Frashluc, about those eight hundred and forty siatos, about the story that Coldpalm had saved his life… But Le Bor was irritated, and when Le Bor was irritated, there was no discussion. I had learned that at Carnation. So when he opened the door for me, I obediently stepped out. The door closed without even an “ayo”. I sighed and muttered with a grimace:

“Ayo, ayo…”

I descended the stairs, put Little Wolf down, and as soon as I came out of the dead end, my mood brightened again. I remembered the trout, the card game, the warm blankets, and the happy face of Little Wolf… If only Rogan could have had such a good night! The thought reminded me of the diamond, and my good mood wavered a little. That damned diamond…

I looked down at the blond boy and smiled at him.

“Hey, Little Wolf. You hungry?” He nodded as he chewed idly and put two fingers back in his mouth without taking his eyes off me. I rummaged in my pocket without much hope and sighed. “Well, I don’t have a nail. But surely one of my cronies must have some. I bet a fivenail they’re with Swift, wanna bet?” I said.

And we set off. It was still very early, and it was possible that Manras and Dil, influenced by Diver, had ditched the newspapers and were still at the shelter, in the ruined house above the Hippodrome ravine. And there they were. I saw them in front of the house, standing in a circle with other gwaks and obviously discussing something important. Well, Manras and Dil weren’t talking: the older ones were. I was already joining them when two of them rushed at each other and rolled on the ground, tearing each other’s hair and covering each other with punches. The others clapped their hands and sang the battle song, which was simply: roll, roll…! And indeed, the two opponents were rolling. I yawned and went over to Dil. I pushed his head.

“Shyur! Do you know where Diver is?”

On seeing me, Manras cried out:

“Sharpy! Ragok told Lin that he doesn’t want to pay the twenty-five he owes him!”

And Dil answered me:

“I didn’t see him last night, Sharpy. He said to wait for him here this morning because maybe he needs reinforcements for I don’t know what. Where is the Priest?”

I grimaced.

“He’s all right,” I assured him. And, suspicious, I repeated, “What reinforcements? Does he want to make a double with you or what?”

“Not at all,” Manras laughed. And, lowering his voice like a schemer, he whispered in my ear, “Diver doesn’t dive pockets anymore. He’s an ambassador now.”

“An ambassador?” I repeated, not understanding.

Manras shrugged, as if to say he didn’t know any more than I did. Mmph… Deciding not to dig deeper into Diver’s affairs, I asked:

“Do you have some nails? It’s not for me, it’s for Little Wolf. Today, he’s staying with you. It runs?”

“It runs,” they both agreed.

I smiled at them and turned to Ragok and Lin. The fight was almost over, and Lin was about to win. In the end, Ragok would have to pay for those twenty-five nails… A punch marked the victory. They both stood up, muddy and bruised, and with the dignity of the defeated, Ragok shook hands with Lin. And there they were, all friends again.

“Well, I’m off,” I informed my cronies. “Take care of Little Wolf. Ayo!”

They responded to my greeting, and with my hands in my pockets, I walked away down the street. I had hardly taken a few steps when I heard someone call out to me:

“Namesake, what’s up!”

I turned and saw Swift coming out of the ruined house with a brisk gait. The other gwaks fell silent and followed the kap with their eyes as he walked towards me. He had a stick in his hand. And when I saw the carved lynx head, I gasped. It was the stick that Swift had stolen from me in the spring.

The red-haired elf stopped in front of me. He had grown taller and must have been as tall as Yal. He leaned on the staff and said:

“Now come on, namesake. First, you come in the middle of the night and talk to Diver until morning, then your cronies come and settle here, and now you bring us a toddler. Well, then, tell me once and for all, gwak: are you leaving or staying?” The question caught me so off guard that I did not know what to answer, and he raised the stick before my eyes and repeated, “You leaving or staying.”

I nodded. I could hardly give a more ambiguous answer, and Swift rolled his eyes.

“Are you leaving?”

“I’m staying,” I replied suddenly.

The decision was not very difficult to make: my cronies and Little Wolf were already there, I had no other place to go, and Swift, despite everything, was not a bad guy.

My namesake arched an eyebrow at my abrupt response and nodded thoughtfully.

“That is, if I decide you can,” he nuanced.

I looked at him, neither pleading nor arrogant, and waited for his verdict. The elf twirled the staff, played with it, and observed:

“Every good gwak passes a test before entering my band.” He paused and added, “Let’s do it right now. Almost everyone in the band is here, only three are missing. Do you have time?”

I shrugged and said:

“I do.”

“You got guts?”

I clenched my jaws.

“Sure, I do,” I said.

Swift smiled and warned me:

“Don’t chicken out.”

“I’m not chickening out.”

“And don’t be a smart ass.”

I grimaced and did not reply. Then I received a small pat of the stick on my arm.

“Follow me.”

He turned his back on me and called the other gwaks. We all entered the ruined house. Diver was right: the view from there was magnificent. In the distance, we could see the trees of the Crypt, the Ravines, the glistening river…

“So, are we all in agreement?”

Swift’s voice reminded me that we were in the middle of an initiation. Everyone had now formed a circle around me and the redheaded elf, and they corroborated with “natural”, “runs for me”, and nods of agreement. All, then, agreed to accept me into the band. This was not surprising: we all knew each other. Some were even sokwatas from the Well and we shared the same misery, the same life. And they thought of me as a good gwak.

“Manras. Dil. You too,” Swift ordered.

My cronies entered the circle. Neither of them seemed to know exactly what was going to happen. I patted them on the arm to let them know that everything was normal and looked into Swift’s eyes.

“Take off your coats and roll up your sleeves,” the kap said.

We laid down our coats and all three of us rolled up our sleeves. All the other gwaks were watching the scene as they must have done many times before, with solemn and attentive expressions. Swift finally took a knife from his bag. He too had rolled up his sleeves and said:

“I swear by my ancestors that I will protect and help my new family.”

And, without warning, he cut his arm. A thin red line appeared. His arm was already covered with scars, I observed. However, one could hardly see them, for Swift’s arms were pockmarked like his face. He handed me the blood-reddened knife.

“Now you.”

I swallowed and thought that it was a good thing that I had to cut my arm and not my right hand, because then they would have been surprised to see that mine was not bleeding. Manras was breathing hastily, and I whispered:

“Calm down, Manras.”

I took the knife, placed the point of the blade a little lower than my elbow and said, loud and clear:

“I swear by my ancestors that I will protect and help my new family.”

I took a deep breath, and without trembling, under the watchful eyes of my future companions, I imitated Swift and slashed my arm. I hardly felt the pain: I was already too used to it because of the sokwata. Stoically, I passed the knife to Dil and was about to lick my wound, but Swift stopped me by putting a hand on my shoulder. He smiled at me.

“Welcome to my gang, namesake.”

At that moment, I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was sincerely happy to have me in his band. I smiled back, glad to have passed the test, and we both turned to my cronies. They were apprehensive. Under my impatient gaze, Dil hurried to say the formula, made a rather ridiculous cut, and looked at Swift as if to ask, “Is that enough?” The elf rolled his eyes, nodded, and welcomed him. Manras, on the other hand, was unable to slash his arm, and he stammered something about being dizzy. Dizzy, your mother… Just for a little cut on the arm? In the end, I had to help him, and my namesake cleared his throat before saying:

“Welcome to the gang.” And, patting Manras’ cheek with a sneering look, he added, “A family is worth a lot more than a wound, shyur.”

Manras nodded energetically.

“Natural!”

And, as if to release his tension, he leapt about among all the gwaks present, displaying his wound as a trophy. We were given a general welcome in a chaotic hubbub, and after shaking many hands, I pondered Swift’s words. A family, I repeated to myself. I looked at my new companions who were walking away, chatting, pushing, yawning, laughing… and I smiled. Well, natural. They were the best family a gwak could have. And it was like no other. They were a real family. And, now, it was mine. My smile widened. Suddenly, I felt that joining Swift’s gang had been a ragingly good decision.

I put my hand on Little Wolf’s blond head as he was watching the commotion with great curiosity.

“Well, you’ve got yourself quite a family, Little Wolf, you can’t complain, can you?” And I stood upright in the middle of the ruins, contemplating the magnificent view. “Good mother, how pretty,” I murmured. And, realizing that Little Wolf couldn’t see everything from so low, I took him in my arms and said, “Look at this, shyur! You like it, don’t you? Don’t you like the house?” Little Wolf made no move, and I huffed, putting him back down on the floor. “Little demorjed. Of course you like it. We’re not as warm as at the lady’s house, but we won’t get kicked out from here… Hey, what do you have there?” I asked. I took his small hand. The kid was grasping a small bone. When I saw it, I laughed, touched. “Good mother, you take after me! Suck it, like this, like this, but don’t swallow it, or you’ll pop off. My master used to say: where there’s a bone, there’s hope. He said that bones hold treasures. Do you believe me, shyur? Treasures!”

Little Wolf smiled at me with a bone in his teeth. He looked so comical that I laughed and continued to laugh at him for a while. Several times, I said that I was leaving, that I had business, but there was always something to distract me. The sokwatas shared with me the best places to look for asofla, and I told them about the alchemist and his endless experiments; I helped clean the house with a broom made by the kap himself; and finally, with Lin the Daredevil, I climbed the highest dilapidated wall that was left standing, and there, at the top, Lin wanted to prove to me that, being theoretically the son of a musician, he knew more songs than I did. We began to list them to the point of exhaustion… And, well, between one silly thing and another, I stayed there almost all morning. Finally, seeing that one by one, the companions were going to earn their bread, I decided to move, and I took leave of the troop. It was time to go and rescue Rogan.

* * *

I retrieved the picklocks from my hiding place in the middle of the Labyrinth and made my way to the Street of Bone. I did not enter the latter, but the parallel street. I entered a dead end and, making sure no one could see me, I started to climb a gutter to the roof of a building. At one point, I slipped, but I held on tighter, and in a few moments, I was up, hidden between two roofs, not far, I thought, from the Hostel. And indeed, after crossing two roofs, I came upon a building a little higher up, and I thought I recognized the two windows of the upper office, where Korther kept his vases, his books, his carpets, and I could only hope that he kept his diamonds there also.

Advancing from tile to tile, I approached the wall just below one of the windows and groped for handholds to climb. I found it. And I hesitated, crouching against the wall, thinking. It was daylight. It wasn’t impossible that someone would see me from the street or from a window, and then… I would be in big trouble. Besides, I had promised Frashluc’s grandson that I would let him accompany me to steal the Wind Tear. If only I could be sure that it was in this office…

The sky was covered with grey clouds, and as I pondered, huddled on my roof, snowflakes began to fall. Thinking was all well and good, but in the meantime, I was freezing.

I moved and said to myself that I could at least go and see if it was possible to enter through that window. Wrapped in grey harmonies to blend in with the wall, I began to climb. I reached the edge of the window and held out my right hand, convinced that I would find an alarm, a trap… Nothing.

I frowned and with an effort pulled myself up. The ledge was so ridiculously narrow that it was not easy to find a stable position. I was examining the opening, thinking that a picklock could be used for leverage, when, to my surprise, something went off, and a mass of energy shot through me like a bolt of lightning. It left me fried. I fell against the tiles of the neighboring house and would have remained there, dazed, had I not been shaken by spasms which sent me rolling towards the void. A stroke of luck brought me close to a chimney, and a gleam of good sense caused me to cling to it and use it for support.

When the spasms subsided, it took me another good while to relax my jaw and breathe normally. I had a horrible headache. It felt like it was going to burst. It was nightmarishly painful. With a trembling hand, I reached into my pocket and took out some of the asofla stems given to me by the sokwatas of the gang. I put them all in my mouth. But they did not help my headache.

I sighed. Good mother, what kind of traps were these that could only be detected by activating them? Korther and his artifacts…

Still trembling, I went back into the dead end and put one foot before the other, awkwardly and fumblingly, feeling as if my muscles were stiffening. I was reaching the end of the street when I heard a voice on my right.

“Draen?”

I blinked and opened my eyes wide. Oh, no…

25 The legendary treasure of a nakrus

“Draen?”

“R-Rolg,” I stammered. “I… I’m glad to see you.”

The old elf looked at me curiously. He carried a bucket full of water in each hand. He shook his head slightly.

“Mm… Likewise, boy. Help me out here, will you?”

“Natural!” I said. But, really, how I wished I could run out of there!

I took the two buckets, and we made our way to the Hostel, he with a limp foot, I with a heart beating with fear and shame. For I was planning to rob Korther, blasthell.

“Yal came by last night to ask where you’d been,” Rolg said in a serene voice. He took a few more steps and added, “He’s moving to a boarding house closer to the Capitol. He says you can drop by his work anytime you want.” He paused. “You all right, boy?”

I nodded. No, I was not all right. Because of that trap earlier, my head felt heavy as if a log had fallen on me. But I nodded anyway.

“Is the Black Cat at the Hostel?” I inquired.

“Yerris?” Rolg huffed. “No. He left yesterday without saying where he was going. He must have found a job. That kid talks more than a crier, but, as soon as it comes to talking about him, he’s like a stone wall.” He said it with a touch of sadness and affection intermingled. He continued, “What about you, boy? What are you doing around here at this hour? I thought you were working as a messenger.”

I winced.

“I do work, I do work,” I assured. “The thing is, I took the day off. I had to find a place for a little kid. But it’s okay now, I found it, and I left him with my cronies. Wind in my sails,” I summarized.

My voice must not have sounded so enthusiastic, because Rolg gave me a curious look before walking into the dead end and pushing open the door of the Hostel. I entered with the two buckets. And my horrified eyes immediately fell on the kap. A book in his hands, Korther was sitting at the table next to a girl about my age, and he was saying to her with a sigh:

“No wonder you got such bad grades in geography, my daughter…”

There was a sudden loud “BANG!”. One of the buckets had slipped out of my hand and water had gushed out like a waterfall, flooding the whole floor.

Korther’s devil eyes struck me, and for a second, I wanted to disappear from the surface of Prospaterra.

“You…” he hissed.

I hurriedly put down the other bucket, picked up the one that had fallen, and between gulps of air, I babbled at lightning speed:

“S-sorry. I’ll go fill it right away.”

Passing quickly by a stunned Rolg, I ran out of there with my empty bucket, blood pounding against my temples. I reached the well before I knew it and helped an old woman fill her own bucket before filling mine. When that was done, I knelt down in front of it and dipped my whole head into the water. It felt glorious. The water was not cold, because it came straight from the Rock. But still it soothed my headache wonderfully.

Hands snatched me from my bliss. I heard an angry voice say:

“Stupid kid! That’s not what buckets of water are for. Any more and you’d have drown. If I were your mother, I’d give you a good thrashing!”

I raised a dripping head of water to the face of a woman who was already walking away while casting reproving glares at me. I sighed, threw the water out of the bucket, and refilled it. Only then did I realize that I had no cap. Where on earth had I left it? In the ruined house? No, I remembered that I had put it firmly on my head before climbing up the gutter. It must have fallen off during my fit of spasms. That wasn’t the only thing I’d left there: I’d also left one of my picklocks. Overwhelmed, I struck the curbstone of the well with my fist and muttered:

“Isturbag, isturbag, isturbag!”

And instead of returning to the Bone Street, I went by the other path, left the bucket on a barrel in the previous dead end, and returned to the rooftops. I found the picklock, just under the window, but no matter how much I looked for the cap, I couldn’t find it anywhere. At last, I hid all my picklocks under a tile a few rooftops away, and thinking that they must be wondering why I did not return with the bucket, I turned back and took the way to the Hostel half walking, half trotting. My headache was almost gone. I arrived, knocked on the door, and the girl came to open it. I remembered that Korther had called her “my daughter”. She had half elf features, but was she really Korther’s daughter? It had never occurred to me that this elfocan could have a family. In any case, the half elf looked at me curiously. I was panting.

“Ayo,” I gasped. “I’ll just put this down inside and leave, it runs?”

With a troubled expression, the girl stepped aside, I entered, and not seeing Rolg, I left the bucket in the nearest corner with the intention of turning around and leaving without even looking at Korther…

“Just a moment, lad.”

I was tempted to pretend I didn’t hear, but couldn’t. I turned to the kap, avoiding his eyes.

“Yes, sir?”

There was silence.

“Zenira. Take the bucket to Rolg, will you, dear?”

The young half elf nodded, closed the front door, lifted the bucket, and left the room, but not without giving me a last curious glance. I looked at her, and at the exit door, and at the picture on the fireplace mantel. I looked everywhere except in the direction of the Black Dagger kap. What if he knew? What if he guessed? Then he would do what Frashluc did, he would gut me, he would throw my heart to the dogs, and… I preferred not to think about it any further. Korther broke the silence.

“I gave Yerris a chance, and I decided to give you one too. Look at me, lad.” I looked at him, and he continued calmly, “It’s about the hobbits. I already told you that they need to get into a tightly secured place. In fact, they want to get into a special library at the Conservatory. And you’ve been wandering across its halls for over six moons. So you’re going to accompany them. In exchange, if you do your job properly, I’ll forgive you your past misdeeds and give you five siatos. Do we have a deal?”

I nodded before I even began to think about the proposal, which was not really a proposal at all. Korther’s eyes showed no satisfaction, but rather uncertainty and distrust.

“If you blunder,” he resumed, “if the authorities nab you, if you lose the hobbits or let them down… I’ll expel you from the brotherhood. Understood?”

I wanted to reply: What if I steal a diamond from you, sir? I scratched my soaked head and answered:

“Natural, it runs. So I have to guide them, round?”

“In a way,” Korther confirmed. “And you will open the doors if necessary. I have kept the duplicates you had made: I will give them to you when the time is right. You will find the hobbits in an inn in Atuerzo; it is called The Fortune. Go there at once. They want to talk to you before planning the trip, and since you’re the only one who speaks Caeldric, you’ll be the perfect guide. As long as you don’t play any of your tricks on us,” he added. His voice was not mocking, it was a warning, a serious warning: I simply could not afford to fail this time. If I failed, goodbye Black Daggers.

Korther added, raising his voice:

“My daughter, it is not right to eavesdrop.”

Then I saw the half elf poke her head in and come out, blushing.

“Sorry, Pop.”

“Bah, bah, sit down and go over your geography,” Korther replied. “If you get less than an eight out of ten this time, I’ll fill your room with maps. Lad: you know what you have to do. Get out of here.”

I nodded and opened the door, saying:

“Ayo, sir. Ayo… uh…”

I was silent, looking at the girl’s face, trying to remember her name. But instead of finding it, I blurted out:

“I don’t know anything about geography either.”

I don’t know why I said that. To my confusion, she smiled at me. I finally shook my head and walked away, taking with me the image of the smiling girl who was bad at geography. She was my age. And wore a pretty white dress. And her eyes were not evil like her father’s, they were brown…

“Zenira,” I muttered as I walked briskly through the streets of the Cats, heading for Atuerzo.

Her name was Zenira. I sighed. I thought of the hobbits, of Lowen, of the diamond… And I sighed again. I was already climbing the stairs to the Atuerzo Quarter when I came across a newspaper left on the ground and picked it up, not to read it but to put it on my head, for it had begun to rain. The rain turned to hail. There were some thunderclaps. And when I finally arrived at the inn of The Fortune, I was soaked. Fortunately, I knew where it was: I had already come to deliver a magigram there a few days before. I pushed open the door and escaped the rain. Unlike other inns, the tavern here was rather small, designed only for those who lived in the rooms upstairs. Just at the entrance was the counter. There was no one there. I took a few steps into the hallway, and… I heard a scream.

“A tramp! Ferris, there’s a tramp in the hallway! Thief!”

Sitting in a chair by the fireplace in the living room, an old woman was pointing at me, looking horrified. My first reaction was to look at her with round eyes. But when I saw a mustachioed caitian come through an open door, stick in hand, I rushed out. The caitian grabbed me with his stick and growled at me:

“Give back what you stole, rascal.”

“Good mother, I didn’t steal anything, sir!” I swore. Unable to free myself, I tried to grab the persecuting stick while explaining: “It’s the old lady, she’s nuts… Ouch! It’s true! I just… I mean, I was sent for a job! Some hobbits… Don’t hit me, please, sir. There’s no need.”

The man had stopped hitting me as soon as he heard about the hobbits. He still asked a lady who was observing the scene to make sure there was no money missing from the cash register behind the counter. And he let go of me.

“What are these hobbits called?”

I breathed in.

“Sho…”

“Finally!” a voice suddenly interrupted. Down the hallway, a costumed hobbit was coming down the stairs. It was Yabir. He gave me a beaming smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, boy. Took you long enough to come.” And he clapped his hands and said in the same horrible accent, “This way! Come on, up the stairs. Room number five.”

He said something in another language to the woman behind the counter. She flushed and said something awkwardly which I did not understand. I knew that they were speaking in Owram, for I had heard it before from Miroki Fal and his friends. Then the old woman in the living room said:

“Foreigners, of course! Otherwise, who would bring a tramp into a house like this! What a shame!”

The decrepit nail-pincher was obviously quite indignant, and if she could have moved, she would probably have come into the hallway to throw her venom. I muttered through my teeth:

“Old hag.”

I think the mustachian heard me, for he glared at me, but he did not hit me, for he did not dare to do so in front of the hobbit who seemed to enjoy my presence so much. I hurriedly followed Yabir’s instructions and went away up the stairs. I found room number five before the Undergrounder reached me. The door was open, and I could see Shokinori sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against a bed with a book in his hands. Next to him was Dakis, lying flat on his back. I swallowed, put a nervous hand on the black stone pendant, and bravely took a step forward. The wolf did not move. Well… I breathed in and smiled.

“Ayo.”

Shokinori shook his head, and Yabir, who was coming up behind me, pushed me inside, saying happily in Drionsan:

“Come in, boy. Let’s decide on the best route. I’ve heard you’re a good guide. I hope that’s true.”

He closed the door, and I looked at him, bewildered. I whispered in Caeldric:

“I thought the job was supposed to be secret, right?”

Yabir rolled his eyes and chuckled, leaving his hat on a small table next to a huge wardrobe.

“That depends on what job,” he answered in the same language. “My main purpose in coming here was to get this,” he admitted, and pulled the purple stone from his pocket. He tossed it in the air and caught it, looking playful. “But I have other goals. I am a Baïra. And, as a Baïra, before I return the Purple Orb to the Great Library, I have a duty to observe my surroundings and learn as much as I can. This is not the first time I have traveled to the Surface. But this city… is a real conundrum to me. Almost as much as you are,” he concluded, smiling at me.

I arched my eyebrows. I had moved back far enough into the room so that I could see both the wolf and the two hobbits. Dakis’ eyes were watching me. But he did not growl or bark or rush at me. At last, I looked more closely at Yabir and said again:

“A real what?”

Yabir glanced at his companion before saying:

“A conundrum. Don’t you know the word?”

I shook my head. Yabir made a vague gesture.

“Let’s say: a mystery. Tell me, you’re from the Evon-Sil Valley, aren’t you?”

I nodded. Yabir looked at me kindly.

“And… unless I’m mistaken, in the Evon-Sil Valley, they don’t speak Caeldric.”

I shrugged. Yabir cleared his throat. He put his hands in his pockets. And he said:

“I’ll make a confession to you, boy. I know everything. I know that you had a nakrus master in the valley, that you knew a necromancer in this very city, that you have an undead hand, and…” He smiled as if to apologize for a bad joke while adding, “That you owed two siatos to the Swallow and know nothing about geography. All thanks to the pendant Shokinori gave you. It was his idea, not mine. He thought that with it we could spy on that Black Dagger elfocan and make sure he wasn’t messing with us… A very bad trick, I admit, but Shokinori didn’t have the same upbringing as I did, I’m afraid… Are you feeling okay, boy?”

Was he seriously asking? Those Undergrounders had been spying on me for days already through the Purple Orb, lying to me and telling me that this necklace would protect me from the wolf and… and he was asking me if I was feeling okay? Choking, I gave him back a face full of venom, I hurriedly picked up the little black stone, spy of my life, and threw it on the ground as if it was burning me.

“You can’t do that,” I growled in Drionsan.

Yabir made a sorry pout.

“I know that, and I apologize for it. However, I’ve been told that you spied on us when you had the Orb and we had the Opal.”

I swallowed that, assimilated it, and shook my head. No, it wasn’t the same thing.

“I didn’t want to spy on you,” I protested.

“We didn’t want to spy on you either,” Yabir assured. “Our interest was focused on Korther.”

“I admit it was a bad trick,” Shokinori interjected, putting down his book. “And I’m sorry for that. Fortunately, you ran into the Baïras. It could have been worse.”

I looked at each of them in turn. For… Fortunately?

“You’re not going to report me for witchcraft?”

Yabir chuckled quietly, with some nervousness.

“No, boy…” He paused and corrected, “Not if you answer our questions.”

Ask your mother!, I thought, in a bad mood. And I spat on the floor. I could not help it. At once, I heard Dakis’ guttural growl, and all my alarms went off. I jumped back in dismay, and as soon as I saw the wolf move, I began to climb the wardrobe. I had previously spotted the possible holds, and I used them as if I had climbed the closet a thousand times before. I pulled myself up while Yabir muttered to himself:

“Will you shut up, you damn hellhound? Shokinori, tell him to shut up.”

This one hadn’t moved. He looked amused.

“He’s defending your honor, Yabir. If that boy had spat on you in Yadibia…”

“It’s a different culture,” Yabir retorted, irritated. “Dakis, that’s enough!”

He took the wolf by the scruff of the neck as it continued to growl, unperturbed, sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe. His yellowish eyes never left my side. I couldn’t take my eyes off him either. But my eyes were also filled with other approaching wolves. There were seven in all. Like Adoya’s dogs. And my nakrus master was there too, but far away, so far away that I couldn’t hear him, so far away that he couldn’t help me…

I struck my forehead against the wood of the closet. I did it deliberately, to see if the harmonies would suddenly disappear. It didn’t work. Nor did my attempts to undo them work: my damned mind kept creating and recreating them.

“Take him outside,” Yabir demanded.

“No way,” Shokinori replied. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“Ah, you think a kid can hurt me?” Yabir scoffed.

“Considering how clumsy you are? For sure,” the other jeered. “He’s a human kid: he’s as big as you. And you’ve already seen a bit of how he lives. Like you say, it’s a different culture.”

“Shokinori,” Yabir sighed patiently. “The boy is scared to death. I thank you for worrying about me, but… now get out and take that quadrupedal fool away.” The growl stopped. “I mean it,” Yabir insisted. “It’s an order.”

Shokinori sighed.

“As you wish, O great Baïra…”

There was a clattering of paws against the wood, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. And then silence returned, interrupted only by the rain beating against the windows. Even so, I could still hear the growling. Part of me knew the sound wasn’t real. And I was angry that I couldn’t get rid of it all at once. All because of a damn dog, or hellhound or whatever that beast was.

There was a clearing of the throat. And another long pause. Then, somewhat calmed, I asked without looking down:

“What’s a Baïra?”

I heard a sharp noise. I glanced around. Yabir had sat on a bed and had closed Shokinori’s book.

“A Baïra,” he said at last in a serene voice, “seeks knowledge of the world, loves what is new, tolerates what is different, tries to understand what he does not understand, and accepts that he cannot understand everything. And, finally, he passes on what he learns to his disciples. This is what a Baïra is.”

“Is it a brotherhood?” I inquired curiously.

“In a way,” he admitted.

“And you’re all hobbits?”

From the top of my closet, I saw him smile.

“No. Any sajit can be a Baïra if they wish.”

I frowned, pondered, and asked in Drionsan:

“Even a gwak?”

Yabir looked up and made an embarrassed pout.

“What exactly does the word ‘gwak’ mean?”

The question left me pensive. How on earth could I explain this to this foreigner? I opened my mouth several times, but in the end, I gave him no answer. I merely said:

“A gwak is a gwak.”

And I felt a little ashamed because Yabir had given me a much more elaborate explanation of what a Baïra was. After a silence, the hobbit said:

“Your master’s name was Narsh-Ikbal, wasn’t it?”

I looked away from the ceiling and at the Undergrounder, dumbfounded. Narsh-Ikbal? I shook my head.

“I don’t know. I used to call him master all the time.”

“Mm,” Yabir mused. “There aren’t many nakrus who are more than five centuries old and native to this area. You mentioned names of nakrus, friends of your master. But you did not mention Narsh-Ikbal.” He paused and cleared his throat. “You can come down from that closet, you know. Dakis is no longer here. Don’t be afraid of that hellhound: he hasn’t eaten sajit meat for many years.”

I glanced warily towards the door and almost cast a perceptive spell to make sure the wolf wasn’t there… but I held back and carefully made my way down to the small table then landed with a bounce, declaring:

“Korther told me that I was to work for you. That I was to help you enter the house of the magicians.”

“And a few hours ago, that was indeed the case,” Yabir confirmed. “But, you see, I happened to meet a gentleman this noon who is very friendly with the Supreme Magician. We sympathized, and he promised me that he would intercede on my behalf so that I could enter and consult the libraries… So that, contrary to what I thought, I won’t need to break the rules of this city. At least for the time being.”

He added something in Owram as a scholarly quote. He was cheerful. I looked at him as if he had offered me a loaf of bread and taken it away.

“So… you don’t need me,” I said.

Yabir raised his index finger.

“At least, not to sneak into the building. A thing I am glad of. You will inform Korther for me and tell him that the other deal still stands.”

I gave him a curious look. The other deal? Gosh. Korther and his twenty thousand deals… Then I frowned thoughtfully. From the hobbit’s tone, he didn’t seem to know about the diamond. Unless he was hiding it very well… but if he really didn’t know about it, if he really hadn’t listened to my conversation with Frashluc through the Purple Orb… well, good mother, if only it were true!

Faced with the hobbit’s questioning look, I reacted, nodded, and answered in Drionsan:

“It runs, I’ll tell him, no worries.”

“Thank you.” Yabir crossed his legs as he added, “On the other hand, boy, I’ve been thinking about… this necromancy thing. Among my people, it’s seen as aberrant and sacrilegious magic. And here, too, from what I can see.” He hesitated, “As a Baïra, I tolerate your practices, but I do not approve of them. I urge you never to try to learn more than you already know. It would do you no good. If you are willing to take my advice,” he added in a lighter tone, “I offer you the honor and opportunity to work with the son of the Great Baïra himself. With all the humility in the world. You see. I am thinking of writing a chronicle of my trip when I return to Yadibia. I’ve already visited the upper parts of the city a lot. The great market. Even Menshaldra. But the lower areas are still a mystery to me. The one time Shokinori and I went in there, we got lost. That’s why I’d like you to offer your help. A simple job as a guide. Nothing easier. I realized, while listening through the Purple Orb, that observing from afar is not at all the same as observing up close. So I’d like you to guide me around the Cat Quarter and show me the places where you… ‘gwaks’ live. Where you sleep. And explain to me how you earn your living. I’ve never studied anything like that, and it seems to me that it’s a topic that will undoubtedly interest more than one student in Yadibia. What do you say?”

I blinked in amazement.

“A chronicle?” I repeated. “What’s that?”

“A book,” Yabir explained. “And there would be a whole chapter dedicated to gwaks. What do you think?”

Damn. What did I think? Pff… Well, it was hard to say. Absurd and flattering at the same time, maybe.

“It works,” I agreed. “But are you gonna pay for it?”

Yabir pouted.

“Well… Maybe a little. But it would only be a day. Two days at most. I’ll let you know when it’s convenient for me. Do you have an address I can send you a note to?”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Uh… an address. Well, natural. Uh…”

I thought about the Swallow, but then I told myself that maybe the director had already fired me for absenteeism. I thought of the barber shop and said to myself: no way. Yal was going to move out, according to Rolg. And I wasn’t going to give out the address of the Hostel. I huffed.

“Sheer Cliff Street, the ruined house. That’s where I live now. There’s no number.”

Yabir nodded, smiling.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“What are you going to talk about in this chapter?” I questioned, intrigued. “Nothing bad about us, right?”

“Of course not,” Yabir assured, rising to his feet. “I shall write with the objectivity of the scholar and the emotion of the poet. As Xenolotes said, mix calculation with music and you will approach the Truth.”

I arched an eyebrow and, after a meditative silence, let out:

“Tell me. If the Purple Orb was in the Underground, how did it end up so far away?”

“Ah,” Yabir said, shaking his head, looking surprised by the change of subject. “It’s a long story.” He looked at me and, seeing my attentive expression, smiled, “You want to hear it?”

“Ragingly so,” I replied in Drionsan. Yabir arched an eyebrow, and I translated into Caeldric, “Yes.”

“Mm. Well,” the hobbit mused. And he took out of his pocket the purple stone and the small black stone that I had thrown on the ground before. He looked at them with a mixture of tenderness and fascination as he said, “The Purple Orb and the Black Opal are actually the same relic that Marevor Helith made almost a thousand years ago. One day, many centuries ago, this nakrus repented of being a necromancer king and taking lives with his undead. He repented and distributed some items among his friends. He gave the Purple Orb and the Black Opal to an old friend who, upon his death, gave them to the Great Baïra of four centuries ago. Only a few moons ago, both the orb and the opal were still in the Great Library of Yadibia, safe and sound. Unfortunately,” he sighed, “someone stole the Orb. For a very long time, it has been said that the White Opal to which the Orb is also linked is in some hidden place, near a treasure. A belief that no Baïra has yet confirmed. But hope digs tunnels. The thief fled from Yadibia and followed the bond. Where other Baïras had failed, he thought he would triumph. But, in reality, he was a student with little experience, and… he entered a very dangerous place. Mercenaries from Yadibia were tracking him using the Black Opal. But they didn’t arrive in time to save him.” He shook his head sadly. “The boy drowned, and the Orb disappeared. And well, my father and the other scholars assigned me the task of going to find it, they gave me the Black Opal, and I left Yadibia with Shokinori and his hellhound. I found the Orb’s trail, followed it, and kept walking through endless tunnels, until I finally found it. On the Surface, to my surprise. In a city that, according to some of my mapmaker friends, is only a few kilometers from Yadibia. Under the sky. And the rain,” he added with a grimace.

I looked at him, captivated. A treasure… The Purple Orb concealed the way to a treasure! Just like in the fairy tales. Wasn’t it wonderful? Yabir’s last words brought me back to reality.

“Good mother! So, just like that, Yadibia is buried inside the Rock? This Rock?” I exclaimed in disbelief in Drionsan.

“Huh? No, no, no, boy. I’m talking about the earth,” he explained. “According to some, my city lies between Estergat and Tribella, about a thousand and five hundred meters below. That is one reason why I wish to enter this place you call ‘Conservatory’. I am sure there is a secret passage to the Underground that would shorten our journey home. And I will find it.” He gave a satisfied smile. Then a strange sound of bells was heard, and his expression changed. He took out something that looked like a pocket watch and snorted, “By the Gargoyle, four o’clock already, and I have an appointment with this gentleman in half an hour! Kid, thanks for coming and accepting my little proposition. But what the devil…!” he complained, glancing annoyedly towards the windows. “That roof you people call the sky is a real watering can!”

I smiled.

“Ragingly round,” I agreed in Drionsan. “Maybe you prefer snow. It doesn’t make any noise when it falls. Well, ayo and thanks for the story. I like it when people tell me stories. My master used to tell me many stories. But, tell me…” The hobbit was busy in the room, looking for his coat, his scarf… I interrupted myself to hand him the hat on the small table, and I resumed: “The fact that no one has seen this treasure doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist, does it?”

Yabir put on his hat and gave me an amused pout.

“Who knows. Legends often have a basis of truth.”

I bit my lip, smiling, and threw with enthusiasm:

“I love treasures. If you try to look for it, I’ll give you a hand. I can help a lot when I want to. My cousin says I’m an expert on harmonies and—”

“Thank you, boy,” Yabir interrupted me with a clearing of his throat. “But I’m not looking for the treasure.”

In spite of his amused expression, I could see a touch of nervousness in his eyes. Liar, I thought. I made a skeptical and mocking pout.

“Well, too bad. If there’s treasure, why not go get it?”

Yabir rolled his eyes and opened the door for me.

“Because until now,” he replied calmly, “everyone who’s been looking for it has died. Good afternoon, boy.”

I sighed, and after giving the hobbit a disappointed look, I stepped out into the hallway and glanced left and right to make sure the wolf wasn’t there. I did not see it. I went down the stairs. I passed the lady at the counter, and when I saw the old woman sitting in the living room, I smiled broadly and said,

“Ayo, old hag!”

I opened the door and ran out of there in a shower of water and curses.

26 Rainy day for a diamond thief

It was raining heavily, and the wind was blowing as if it wanted to tear the Rock away. Le Bor would have said it was an excellent night for an escape. Maybe it was for a robbery too? At any rate, that’s what I was hoping for.

I waited for the watchman to pass on the street and enter the Stone Park. Then I came out of my hiding place and went to the cherry tree. It was losing its few remaining leaves. And the dead leaves on the ground were rustling together, carried by the wind. I climbed the trunk and stopped at the end of the branch nearest the window with the red curtains. I stretched out a hand for the glass. I knocked quietly. After a silence I gritted my teeth and knocked again. At last, I saw the shadow of a hand appear, the curtains moved, and the window opened.

“Is that you?” Lowen’s voice whispered.

I smiled and leapt inside.

“Ayo, Lowen,” I whispered. I glanced around, and as I saw that the boy was about to light a lantern, I hissed, “No way. Don’t light anything. You ready?”

“Uh…” Lowen cleared his throat. “I need to get dressed.”

I stopped groping for a small table. I think I was unconsciously looking for something interesting to slip into my pocket. All in all, Lowen was a good guy, and he would have let me take anything, wouldn’t he? I turned to him with the intention of asking then laughed under my breath. The little nail-pincher was in his nightgown.

“Hurry up, shyur,” I said.

And Lowen hurried up. He rummaged blindly in his drawers, fell halfway through putting on his trousers, and when he was finally slipping on his boots, I sat down beside him and said:

“Did you talk to my friend?”

Lowen nodded.

“Yes. I brought him everything he asked for. But I didn’t get to talk to him much.”

I smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, mate.”

I guessed his half shy, half conspiratorial smile, and then I stood up.

“Ready?”

Lowen exhaled sharply.

“Ready,” he affirmed.

He put on a coat, opened the window, and jumped on the cherry tree. It seemed that this was not the first time he had come down that way. And I confirmed my impression when, following him, I saw him close the window using a wire and a small outside latch. Once on the ground, we moved as quietly as we could away from Frashluc’s house.

“Are we going to the Cats?” Lowen asked.

The question was stupid: we were already going down the stairs to the neighborhood. Nevertheless, I replied:

“Natural.”

I took him to the same dead end where I had done my explorations. It was a hellish night, and we didn’t come across a single person. In the dead end, however, I could make out a heap curled up in an overturned barrel. A dog? No, a gwak. I decided to ignore him.

“Go up,” I said to Lowen.

He did not answer immediately. There was a noise, perhaps a shutter slamming or a tile falling. I saw the little nail-pincher flinch.

“Spirits,” he whispered. “Where am I to go up?”

I sighed and pointed to the gutter.

“This way. Up to the roof. It’s easy. You’ll see.”

Lowen tried. Certainly, it could not be said that he did not try. But he also complained.

“My hands are slipping.”

“Hang on,” I said.

“But everything is soaked,” he protested.

I sighed, impatient.

“If you can’t, you stay down here, shyur,” I warned him. “Watch.”

I pushed him away from the gutter and began to climb. When I reached the roof and looked down, I could see nothing. It was raining and windy, and a gust of wind nearly blew me off the roof. I hurried away from the edge. Good Mother, what a night.

I retrieved the hidden picklocks and waited a moment, not knowing whether Lowen would make it upstairs or not. No. He wasn’t coming. Well, it was almost a relief. I was already moving away on the roof when, through the wind, I heard a muffled scream. I retraced my steps, and when I saw Lowen hanging from the wing of the roof, I hurried to help him up. Luckily, unlike his grandfather, he was rather thin.

“Blasthell, Lowen,” I gasped. “You’re crazy. You can’t climb. You should have said so before. If you fall off, you pop yourself off, man.”

Lowen Frashluc did not answer; he was too busy recovering from his fright. I grabbed him by the sleeve.

“Forward.”

And we moved on. I soon found out that the little nail-pincher couldn’t walk on roofs either. And, of course, the weather did not help. But we got to the office window safe and sound. We sat down against the wall just as a flash of lightning lit up the whole sky. The thunder sounded like an explosion and seemed to tear the whole city apart.

“Good mother…” I grumbled. And I put my hands to my head, as if I could protect myself better from the weather.

“A… are you afraid?” Lowen asked.

He was obviously afraid. I cleared my throat and instead of lying to him, I raised a hand.

“This is the window to Korther’s office. And the diamond is inside.”

I didn’t know if it was really there, but I sounded so confident! I coughed.

“Help me get up there.”

I told him to get up. He got up. I climbed on him and heard him snort, and when I stood on his shoulders, I clung to the window sill. Through the whistling wind I heard distant bells. It was half past two at night. Okay. I reached into my pocket, and… Lowen slipped, and I ended up hanging on the ledge with one hand. I stomped around in vain, my hand slipped, and I fell back. Lowen groaned as he received my full weight. I hissed:

“Isturbag.”

We got to our feet, and this time, as soon as I was on his shoulders, I took out a stone, covered it with a silence spell, and praying that the magic trap would not be triggered again, I slammed it against the glass. It shattered. Bingo.

Leaning my elbows on the edge, I put my hand inside, taking care not to touch the window from the outside. I turned the handle. And I opened it. In fact, it was the wind that blew the panels open for good, pushing them wildly. I clutched the edge. No trap had been set off. It looked like Korther had not repaired the one I had activated in the afternoon.

I went inside, but I dared not go any further. I cast a perceptive spell across the room, but I didn’t know exactly why. Then I heard a:

“Hey!”

I sighed and leaned over to the window. Lowen was trying to pull himself up. He had guts, I had to admit. I helped him in and closed the panels. The wind coming through the broken glass whined like a wounded dog.

“What now?” Lowen muttered.

“We look for it,” I replied.

I performed a harmonic light spell and silently stepped forward in the room. Lowen had stayed behind to observe the beautiful quills that adorned Korther’s desk. I opened a drawer. I rummaged around. Nothing. I opened the wardrobe and found some clothes, some strange things, but no trace of the diamond. Where? Where could it be?

I opened all the drawers, lifted the rugs, climbed to the top of the wardrobe and cast a perceptive spell again, concentrating, looking for a strong flow of energy. The trouble was, there was more than one magara in this room. On the desk alone, there were quite a few, some were just trinkets, others couldn’t be worth much either, since they were in plain sight.

Then Lowen whispered:

“How about this?”

I frowned, climbed down from the wardrobe, and leaned in beside him. He was pointing to something under the desk. There, embedded in the wood, was a box. I groped around, looking for an opening. There was no lock. But there was certainly an opening. I did not doubt it, for my perceptive spell told me: there is a hole here, and another a bit further. And those holes were too well aligned for them to be defects in the wood. I also saw an energy trail. A trap. That was good news, because if there was a trap, maybe the Wind Tear was inside.

I tried to take the box out and then realized that it was pinned to the floor. I punched it impatiently and sighed.

‘No safe is completely safe,’ Yal had once told me. ‘That’s how you deal with a safe: you either take it with you or you open it.’

Well, obviously, this one was going to have to be opened. The problem was that I didn’t know how. Besides, at any moment, I could activate the trap unwittingly and, bam, I could very well die, who knows.

I cast a spell of light and watched the cracks. I looked at them for a while, then my spell lost its intensity, and I rebuilt it. To my amazement, the light barely pierced the darkness. I coughed, sneezed, and grunted.

“Lowen. There’s a bottle of phosphorus over there by the door. Get a candle and light it, will you?”

“But your harmonic light works very well,” Lowen marveled.

“I can’t see well enough,” I insisted.

In fact, I could hardly see anything. Lowen huffed and reached for the box.

“I can perfectly see it, though. It’s a riddle opening. It works a bit like a safe with numbers, but it’s a bit different. My father gave me a box like that, but much smaller. I keep my marbles in it. Well, just the ones I like the most, not all of them—”

“Good mother, will you bring me some light?” I interrupted. We were in Korther’s office, and the little nail-pincher was talking to me about his marbles!

I sat cross-legged under the desk. When Lowen returned, I was feeling as if I had been told I was about to die. I was shaking from head to toe.

“I think… we have a problem,” I said.

“Yes. That candle doesn’t give much light,” Lowen acknowledged.

“The problem isn’t the candle,” I muttered, gasping. “It’s this box.”

“Leave it to me, I can open it,” Lowen assured.

I shook my head and pushed him aside.

“Don’t touch it. You don’t understand. Blasthell, I’m blind! I can’t see.”

“What?” Lowen stammered.

“I can’t see,” I hissed, altered. “That box had a damn trap. And I don’t know how it works…”

For a few moments, all that could be heard was the wind and the rain against the windows.

“I can feel it,” Lowen murmured suddenly. “There’s something in the air. Something that stings the eyes.”

My eyes didn’t sting. They were burning. I took out a handful of asofla and put it all in my mouth. Lowen said:

“Now I can’t see anything, either.”

I sighed as I chewed and suggested:

“Maybe, if we get away, it will get better.”

Grabbing each other, we stepped out from under the desk and moved to a corner of the room. We waited a moment, and then I asked:

“Do you still have the candle lit?”

“In principle, but I still can’t see anything,” Lowen admitted. He cleared his throat. “I thought you Black Daggers learned how to deactivate traps.”

I swallowed.

“Yeah… But, what do you want, I’m not an expert.”

Lowen sighed.

“We should come back another day. Two blind thieves stealing is ridiculous.”

I laughed quietly.

“Dead round. But we can’t stop. We have to open this box. If we leave here without the Tear, we’ll never find it. And if we don’t find it, Frashluc will kill my friend, he’ll kill me, and he won’t give the eight hundred and forty gold back to Le Bor, and… and, if I pop off, so will Little Wolf, and, then, Coldpalm will chase me to the hell of death, she told me… Of course, you don’t care. I don’t know why you’re meddling in this, shyur. If you want to run away, do it. I’m staying.”

I had a coughing fit which was not exactly discreet. When I calmed down, I moved away from the wall and walked blindly towards the desk. Then I heard a creak. A sudden draught caused a noisy cascade of papers. And someone called out:

“Pathetic.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, staring into space. I recognized the voice. It was Rolg.

“Pathetic and unbelievable,” the voice of Aberyl intervened. A door was heard to close. “Tell me, kid. What the hell are you doing here?”

The voice was calm, but I sensed an unusual tone in Aberyl’s voice: he was angry. And how could he not be! As for me, at that moment, I wished that a bolt of lightning would come through the window and burn me to a crisp. I did not answer. I heard footsteps.

“Watch out, Ab,” Rolg said. “There’s varisigre in the air. The boys are blind.”

“I can see that,” Aberyl snorted. “Boys, come closer. At once. If you stay there, the varisigre will burn your insides out.”

Panic drove me forward towards the voice. Only when I felt hands searching me did I think that what Abe had just said was a total lie.

“Picklocks. Not ours, you can tell right away,” Aberyl commented. “And a dagger. Ah. And asofla too, of course. Only thing missing is what you wanted to steal and couldn’t, eh? And you, kid,” he added, addressing Lowen. “Who the hell are you?”

There was a silence. And a sigh.

“Rolg. Could that varisigre have made them dumb too?”

“No. This powder only affects the eyes. They’ll recover in a few hours at most,” the old elf assured, “But they won’t recover that quickly from their stupidity, I’m afraid.”

“Answer, boy, who are you?” Aberyl insisted. “What? Do you want me to tear off your ears, you little rascal?”

I heard a groan, and Lowen gasped:

“You have no right to do this! I’m the grandson of Frashluc! Don’t touch me, you brute!”

There was an incredulous silence. I kept quiet. I had nothing to say. My actions were clear as day. And asking for forgiveness was good for the snotty cowards. So I faced it, and blind and helpless, I surrendered to my confreres, like a dirty traitor, but without making a fuss.

“You know what?” Aberyl said then. “We’ll put them in the basement. And I’m going to report to Korther right now. He’s going to be in for quite a surprise when he finds out that Frashluc’s grandson has entered his house uninvited. None other than Frashluc’s grandson!” Now he even sounded amused. “Come on, let’s go.”

They helped us down the stairs and locked us in the cellar. Well, they locked me in the cellar. In fact, at the last minute, Rolg decided to separate us and question Lowen more calmly, so they left me alone. The only advantage: it was not cold. I took off my soaked clothes, twisted them as best I could, and put them back on. And I said to myself: if I manage to get away, I’ll leave Estergat. Didn’t Diver say that he had found asofla in Lysentam? Well, I would go to Lysentam. I knew it wasn’t far. About fifty kilometers. I could get there in two days. But for that, first, I had to escape. And escaping from a basement with no windows and with eyes that couldn’t see was going to be pretty hard.

I shook my head. But what was I thinking? I couldn’t leave Estergat and leave Rogan in Frashluc’s hands. No. First, I would save him. Then I would take Little Wolf, convince my cronies to come with me, and leave with them and the Priest to see the world with Swift’s blessing. Didn’t my nakrus master tell me that I should explore the world? Well, then. For the moment, I only knew Estergat. Round, I had no idea of geography, but who cared… I’d go to the Storm Hills to get a ferilompard bone!

In any case, whether I would become an explorer, a nakrus or a merchant, I had to get out of that damned cellar first.

I crawled and groped in the dark. I came upon a bag full of clothes. A pile of baskets. A chair with two broken legs. Finally, I sighed, lay down on the bag, and closed my eyes. I heard a rustle. I grunted. Mice. Or rats. Damn rats. I coughed and coughed for a long time. Little by little, I realized that this cough was very similar to the one I had had the year before with the Cold One. Damn, that’s all I needed now, to get sick.

As time went by, I had to face the facts: I was sick. Well, I had been sick for a long time already because of the sokwata, but this was different: it was the Cold One for sure.

With the coughing, the fever, and the rats, I could not sleep. However, I was not fully conscious either, and when I heard the door open, I hardly noticed.

“Kid?”

My chest convulsed, and I coughed, hugging the bag of clothes. Rolg came closer, and I felt his hand on my shoulder. At that moment, I thought: perhaps Aberyl is gone again, Rolg is home alone, I’ll give him a mortic shock and go away, goodbye and farewell… The mere thought horrified me.

“Here, kid. I made you some herbal tea for your cough.”

I blinked. I still could not see anything, and yet I was sure that Rolg had brought light. He helped me to lean against the bag and put the bowl in my hands.

“Thank you, Rolg,” I muttered; my voice was hoarse.

I took a sip and suddenly wondered: what if Rolg had put poison in the bowl? What if he decided to kill me gently so Korther wouldn’t gut me and…? Pf. Slugboneries. I finished the brew. It tasted like onions, simple onions.

Rolg retrieved the empty bowl. He broke the silence in a saddened voice.

“Korther came by the Hostel, but he left. He’ll be back in a while and… On his way out, he said, ‘If I lay eyes on that devil, I’ll kill him,’” he quoted with a clear throat. “And he was saying it seriously, I’m afraid. You need to leave, kid. Right now.”

My eyes filled with tears, and I swallowed them as I nodded.

“I can’t come back.”

“No,” Rolg confirmed with a deep sigh. “You must not come back.”

This reminded me very much of the day my nakrus master had kicked me out of the cave. Although I knew that this time I deserved to be expelled, it hurt just as much because, after all, it was the Black Daggers who had taken me in when I was all alone in Estergat. They were the ones who had taught me to live among the sajits. And now they were disowning me. With good reason. Rolg hugged me.

“Son, don’t cry,” he whispered. “Other kaps wouldn’t give you a chance to stay alive, kid.”

“B-but you didn’t expel Yerris for what he did,” I defended myself in a hushed whisper.

There was silence. And Rolg stepped aside.

“You don’t realize what you’ve done, boy. Robbing the kap is treason. But working for Frashluc and getting his grandson into the Hostel… Well. You wouldn’t understand if I explained it to you. I don’t remember seeing Korther like that. Well, anyway. What’s done is done. Come on, get up. Good boy. Come on.”

He took me gently by the arm and led me out of the cellar. Blind as I was, I stumbled several times. Then the old elf let go of me briefly and gave me something heavy.

“It’s a blanket. It will help cure your cold. Come on,” he encouraged me.

He gently pushed me towards what must have been the exit door. Was there anyone in the room? In any case, no one made a sound. Only Rolg, when he opened the door. He whispered in my ear:

“May the spirits protect you, boy.”

I stepped back, groping the frame with one hand. My feet trod the mud of the dead end.

“Rolg,” I said. I swallow. “Tell Yal that… I love him very much. Does it run?”

“Of course, boy. I’ll tell him,” Rolg promised me.

My eyes in the dark and my voice trembling, I added:

“I love you too, Rolg. I’m sorry. I am very sorry.”

“I know, kid,” Rolg replied in a husky voice.

There was silence. Then I heard a creak. The old Black Dagger had closed the door. Ayo forever, I thought. I blinked, and clutching my blanket, I walked blindly down the dead end. Was it daylight yet? I had no idea. I stopped to listen to the city’s rumor and concluded that it must be nearly six o’clock. It was still nighttime. But people were already waking up. The workers on the night shift were going home, the others were leaving their houses. And I, without being able to see them, began to move from wall to wall and finally reached the end of the Bone Street. The journey to the ruined house was quite an adventure. I stumbled countless times. I bumped into people who, at best, just pushed me aside. I went down stairs, step after step, not wanting to repeat the trick of rolling down. Several times I had coughing fits that left me breathless, and I had to lean against a wall for long periods. Fortunately, it was not so difficult to recognize Sheer Cliff Street, even for a blind person: it was enough to go down the slope again and again until the ravine. Finally, I hit the stone ledge that separated the street from the precipice and, feeling that the wind was blowing there more than in other streets, I concluded that I had arrived. At last. I was walking along the ravine when suddenly I heard:

“If it isn’t Sharpy!”

“Good mother, looks like he’s out of his box.”

I thought I recognized the voices.

“Diver? Lin? Is that you? I can’t see you. I’m blind,” I explained.

“Blind?” the voice of Diver repeated as he approached. “You mean, forever?”

“No, don’t worry,” I reassured him. “There was a trap, it activated… Accidents will happen. It’ll pass in no time.”

“Well, that’s all right then!” Diver rejoiced, and he gave me a sharp slap on the back. “Hey, you scaluftard, you got into the gang when I wasn’t there! Let me see that mark. Did you make it for real?”

I smiled and rolled up my sleeve.

“Natural. You didn’t?”

“Why, of course I did! Ah, you can’t see, natural. Terrible!” he exclaimed, giving me a light punch on the shoulder. “If you go begging at the Esplanade right now, you’ll sure make a good wad.”

I laughed, and then coughed like hell. Hands grabbed the blanket which I was about to drop.

“Gee, are you sick?” Lin asked.

“A cold,” I replied. And I sneezed.

“Well, you’re not the only one,” Diver assured me, taking me by the arm. “Damba’s in bad shape too. And Venoms is burning hot. She’s even bearable now! Come in, come in and lie down. Are you hungry?”

“A little,” I said. In fact, I had not eaten a bite since the three dinners of the previous night.

“Well, as soon as I have time, I’ll be back with something,” Diver promised me.

I nodded, smiling, as I followed him. Diver was a good gwak. He often got into a lot of trouble, but no more than I did, and unlike me, he made a good living. I stopped.

“Diver.”

“Mm?”

“You think Frashluc would be able to kill Rogan?”

There was silence. And I heard him swear softly.

“I knew it. Frashluc has him prisoner?”

I nodded.

“I had to steal something from Korther to get him to release him. But… blasthell, I failed, you know. Look, man. If you take me to the guild, if you know where the Priest is…”

“I can’t get him out, mate,” Diver protested. I could tell by his voice that he was frightened.

“I’m not saying you take him out,” I assured him. “I just want you to take me there.”

“But you’re blind and sick,” he objected.

“That’s okay. It’s even better. This way, maybe they pity me and I’ll give the cold to those isturbags,” I spat. I coughed. When I calmed down, I begged: “Please, mate. It’s not that hard, is it?”

Even though I couldn’t see him, I could guess his embarrassed expression.

“It runs,” he finally agreed to my relief. “But you owe me one.”

“Or even two if you want, mate!” I exclaimed.

And I gave him a gwak hug, which, rather than a hug, was more like shaking the other like a plum tree. I stepped aside, still smiling.

“Are we going now?” Nat asked.

I affirmed emphatically.

“Now. No! Wait. Where is Little Wolf? I’ll go see Little Wolf, then we’ll go.”

Diver led me to the moppet in the ruined house. He was still asleep, and I woke the morjas from his bones with all the care I could muster. Feeling that he was waking up, I whispered a lullaby in his ear, followed by a:

“If I survive, I’ll teach you how to do it. And I’ll teach you to sing. What did you imagine, even a mute gwak can sing. Well. Ayo, Little Wolf.”

I asked for the blanket which Lin had taken from me, and I covered the little one with it. That done, I jumped to my feet and with the intonation of one who is preparing to conquer an empire, I said:

“Let’s go, mate. I’m ready.”

27 Reward and condemnation

Diver led me through the Labyrinth, up the alleys, ever higher. We had just arrived at the upper part of the Cats when, suddenly, I said:

“I think I’m starting to see something.”

In fact, although I could see everything very grey, I could make out silhouettes. I even guessed that Diver just turned his head towards me.

“That’s the trouble with rich houses, they always have traps,” he commented. “What happened?”

I sighed and shook my head as we moved on.

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t know if it was the box that was activated, the window or what. In any case, some kind of product came out. Something evil. And I don’t even know if the diamond was in the box. Total fiasco. And now the Black Daggers have fired me. And Frashluc’s gonna pop me off, I’m telling you. But I’ll take the Priest out no matter what.”

Diver stopped and stepped aside to face me.

“Hey, wait a second, what are you planning to do?” he inquired in a concerned tone.

I frowned.

“You promised, Diver. The rest is my business.”

My companion hesitated, but he took me by the arm again, and we continued.

“Some of these guys have a heavy hand,” he warned me. “They’ll make your ears bleed if you cross the line.”

“I don’t care,” I replied.

I heard him sigh. When we entered a narrow courtyard my vision was still blurred, but I could already see the colors, and, well, I could walk by myself. I saw a tall, strong figure moving away from a wall.

“Nat? Who are you bringing?”

I was the one who answered:

“This is the Frashluc Guild, I have round? And that’s where my mate is locked up, round? Well, I’m coming to get him. Frashluc told me he could come out.”

I blinked in vain to try to see the reaction of my interlocutor.

“Uh… really?” this one asked.

I shrugged.

“For real and in Drionsan. He said: good job, go free your friend and leave me alone! That’s all he said. Where’s Rogan?”

“Well…” The Cat hesitated. “Wait here for a moment, okay? Nat, the merchandise has already arrived. I’ll pass it to you now, it runs?”

Diver nodded, patted me on the shoulder, and disappeared with the other through a door. I was left alone in the courtyard, freezing. Had that Cat bought my ruse?

I waited for a long time, went round the puddles, coughed, sat on a stone edge, stood up, played with boards, climbing up and down a heap, until at last a door opened. And I saw a figure appear. I approached with squinting eyes.

“Rogan?”

No, it wasn’t Rogan. He was too tall. He answered me in a quiet voice:

“Come in.”

I clenched my jaws and shook my head.

“No, no. Let Rogan come out. Let Rogan come out and, then, I’m going in, I swear. But let Rogan come out.”

I did not see the hand coming: it grabbed me by the neck and pushed me inside without mercy. I did not dare to protest, for I could not see well enough to defend myself. I took a few steps down a corridor, half-jostled by my guide, and he was opening a door when I heard a gasp.

“Sharpy!”

I straightened up at once. That was the Priest, wasn’t it? I saw a form kneeling on the ground with a bucket beside him and something in his hands. A rag, perhaps? The guide said:

“Stop this, gwak. And get out.”

“B-but… what about the Sharpy?” the Priest asked as he stood up. “What’s up with him?”

“Nothing,” I assured him. “I’m fine. I’m staying. That’s all. Get out of here, mate. And take good care of Little Wolf.”

Rogan had approached me.

“What on earth are you saying?” he gasped.

I breathed in:

“I say, mate, you take care of…”

I had a sudden coughing fit, more violent than the others. When it was over I could not breathe. I simply could not breathe. My throat made a shrill sound. Finally, everything went black, and I collapsed, suffocated.

* * *

I awoke with a violent cough which left me breathless and on the verge of fainting. My eyes were open, and the light was blinding me, but after a while I could see my surroundings with complete clarity. I was lying on a comfortable red and gold carpet. It was warm in the room. There were no windows, the stove was lit, and at the table, two people were sitting playing cards. They were Jarvik the Albino and a copper human with features from the Valley like me, except he had greying hair.

Jarvik laid his cards on the table. His reddish eyes were looking intently at me.

“How are you feeling, boy?”

I gathered enough strength to open my mouth and whisper:

“Awful.”

My throat ached as if a dagger had been lodged in it. The Albino made a pout.

“It shows,” he assured me. He stood up, came over, and leaned close to me with his hands clasped. Half-stunned, I stared at his snow-white face. “Well, kid. You’ll be glad to know you did exactly what Frashluc hoped you would.”

I blinked.

“What?” I muttered, stunned.

“Uh… yeah,” the Albino cleared his throat. “Frashluc suspected that Korther didn’t have the Tear and had already sold it. In fact, it didn’t matter to him if you found it or if the Black Daggers caught you. The point was to mock Korther by stealing the loyalty of one of his apprentices. That’s all.”

I looked back with an expression of complete incomprehension and coughed.

“But why?” I gasped.

The Albino gave me an embarrassed smile.

“Well. It’s part of the endless game of bad tricks that Korther and Frashluc play on each other. Sometimes, they give each other golden cups, and other times, they bicker like kids… Frashluc has a territory to defend, you understand. Korther doesn’t always play by his rules and that pisses the kap off.” He shrugged, making a new face. “If Lowen hadn’t gone with you, Frashluc would have forgotten about you the moment he heard the Black Daggers had caught you. But… that kid Lowen, he’s his grandson, you understand? Frashluc has affection for his grandson. And he wants to teach him a lesson for his little adventure. So… in a few hours or maybe more, we’ll know what he’s gonna do with you, boy. So try to do exactly as you’re told and… maybe you’ll get out of this alive.”

He patted me on the shoulder and stood up, adding more for his companion than for me:

“Poor boy. Not easy to dare to move a finger with a grandfather like that. But it must be said that that kid has some crazy ideas… If his mother finds out about this…”

He huffed. He was obviously talking about Lowen. He sat back down at the table before my wide eyes. Frashluc was going to gut me alive. I was sure of it. My heart raced, my chest tightened, and the coughing attacked me again. At the table, the Albino and his companion were talking quietly about their card game, filling the room with cigar smoke and pouring themselves copious cups of wine.

“He’s making me sick with coughing so much,” the Valley man complained after a while. He glanced at me impatiently, then suddenly rose with a glass full of wine and brought it to me. “Hey, kid. Here you go. It’ll warm you up.”

I was not particularly cold in that room, but I accepted the glass and emptied it. The Valley man looked at me, and after a few moments, he showed all his teeth.

“Look at that, he stopped coughing. Want another one?”

I nodded silently, not daring to speak for fear of starting to cough again. He motioned for me to get up and sit at the table. I took another drink. A strange lucidity came over me little by little.

“It’s Azada wine, and he’s drinking it like it’s sangria,” the Albino snorted. “Come on, stop, don’t give him any more.”

“Bah, my aunt used to give me a glass of radrasia when I was sick,” the Valley man assured, while pouring me another glass. “This stuff cures everything. Besides, who’s to say that by tomorrow Frashluc won’t have broken his head. Let that poor kid enjoy it. And he’s enjoying it for sure!” he said cheerfully as I finished the third glass.

He laughed, patting me hard on the back and nearly making me choke. I was, I think, on my fourth drink when my mind really began to forget about my sore throat and my headache… My forehead fell heavily against the table. Through my deep numbness, I heard the Albino say with amusement:

“He didn’t make it to four. Cough up the bread, mate.”

They had even made a bet, good mother… And I wasn’t even aware of it. I coughed, and hands helped me to lie down on the carpet, and soon I was fast asleep. And so deeply that it took me a while to react when, perhaps hours later, a hand began to shake me.

“Hey! Get up, boy,” the Albino said in a voice that seemed to come from far, far away.

He shook me more vigorously, and at last, I blinked and sat up. The room would have been dark if it had not been for the lantern which the Albino carried. And blasthell how my head ached… No, actually, I hurt all over. I thrust my hands into my pockets and let out a groan when I saw that they were empty. Of course. Aberyl had taken the asofla from me at the Hostel.

“Asofla,” I stammered. “Asofla, asofla, asofla—”

“I said stand up,” the Albino repeated, and he pulled me to my feet. “Come on.”

I didn’t know where he was taking me, but that was the least of my concerns at the time. I was more concerned with keeping myself upright and following the Albino without collapsing. He helped me along a corridor, and we stopped at the exit door to the guild. He put something in the palm of my hand. It was a small bag.

“Frashluc’s reward,” the Albino explained. “Six siatos. He thanks you for the services lent and asks that you not speak with his grandson again if you don’t want to die. Do you understand? If you speak one word to the kid, if you look at him, you are dead.” I felt a cold finger against my throat. I nodded once, and he patted me on the shoulder. “You’re free.”

He opened the door, and a snow-laden gust of wind came in. I went out, pushed by the Albino. On the threshold, he said:

“You got lucky, boy. I don’t know if the Black Daggers will take you back or not, but… Well. You’re alive, that’s the main thing, isn’t it? I wouldn’t stay here in the snow too long if I were you. Shake it off and walk, huh? Good boy.”

He gave me a parting smile, and I murmured a faint and hoarse:

“Ayo.”

He closed the door. I put the money in my pocket, and refreshed by the snow and the cold, I went forward and out of the yard. It was already evening, and with the snow still falling, one could hardly see. I had not yet reached the end of the adjoining lane when a figure appeared through the snowflakes and rushed towards me.

“Sharpy!”

I smiled slightly, very happy.

“Priest, ayo. You got any asofla?”

Rogan nodded and hurried to give me some. I put a good handful in my mouth as he said:

“Spirits, I thought they were gonna kill you, you know? I spent all afternoon waiting for you here. You don’t know how many curses I put on them, that their ancestors were going to chain them to the underworld, that they were going to pop off, bled like pigs… And it worked! Well, not right away. One of them, the Twisted-Nose, came out to shut me up, but the one with the snowy face put water in the wine and told me they were going to let you go. I promised them I would remove all curses, natural.”

I smiled broadly.

“Natural.” A great fatigue was gradually replacing the pain. I sighed and added, “Good to see you, Priest.”

We embraced like brothers, and he snorted:

“You’re burning like a chimney, shyur. Diver tells me you’ve joined Swift’s gang. I’ll walk you to his hideout, all right?”

I frowned.

“All right. But, tell me, you’re not going to join the gang?”

Rogan pouted.

“I don’t know… I’ve never been good at handling a gang.”

“Mmph. Slugboneries,” I replied. “Come on, come with us, mate. Swift is not a bad guy. And he’s got a house. You don’t have one. And it’s cold, mate. Come on, come with us,” I repeated.

Rogan did not answer out loud, but to my joy, he nodded. We went down the whole district. We passed by The Wind Rose, and remembering that I hadn’t eaten in almost two days, I thought of going to buy a snack, but the mere thought of eating something turned my stomach, and I preferred to concentrate my efforts on putting one foot in front of the other.

The snow and the wind prevented us from speaking without raising our voices, so we hardly spoke the whole way, and I walked on, deep in thought. Inwardly, I spoke with my nakrus master and said to him: Oh! If you knew all my misadventures, Elassar! Rolg took me in, Yal was like a second master, and Korther wasn’t a bad person either… And I betrayed them all. Like Yerris. Except, he was lucky, unlike me, he’d been in the brotherhood longer, and he was working for a small-time crook and not Frashluc. But still, it’s not fair, Elassar. All I wanted to do was save Rogan. And I saved him. That’s the important thing. We’re alive. That’s the important thing, right? I’ve got the gang, I’ve got my cronies… They’re not gonna throw me out, because they don’t have anybody either, and they don’t kidnap, they don’t threaten to kill, and they don’t steal relics. I want to be a free gwak, Elassar. I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do. Swift, at most, and only a little and because he’s a gwak. No one else. From now on, I make myself a rebel gwak, I make myself a man and to hell with the big cats. What do you think, Elassar? I wish I could talk to you for real. I hope at least you haven’t forgotten me. You were so different from the sajits I know. And I miss you so much…

I breathed in. My feet were freezing in the snow.

“Sharpy… You crying?” Rogan asked.

I shook my head and wiped my nose on my coat while denying:

“It’s the cold.”

Only a few hours after arriving at the ruined house, my condition worsened. I was not coughing so much, but I was burning up, and I did nothing but lie around with the other sick gwaks, hardly aware of what was going on around me. My companions brought me food, and I vomited it all. The more time passed, the more I realized that instead of getting better, everything seemed to get worse. The hours went by without me being aware of it. By the third or fourth day, I could barely move. Diver removed a cloth full of melted snow from my forehead.

“They’re dying, Swift,” he declared in a husky voice. “There’s something weird here. Something very weird.”

Swift was sitting by the fire. He added a log while muttering:

“Death is not weird.”

Diver shook his head.

“No, no, Swift. Haven’t you noticed? Everyone who’s sick is a sokwata. Ragok got better right away. On the other hand… they didn’t.”

He looked down at the six feverish, dying bodies. Damba, Rogan, Syrdio, Dil, Venoms, and I were burning with fever and dying before the sad eyes of our healthy companions. Swift rose slowly to his feet.

“You mean the disease has something to do with the sokwata? Or… with the asofla? But… then why aren’t you sick yourself?”

Diver did not answer immediately.

“Well… Manras is still fine too. But maybe tomorrow he won’t be… You’ve gotta do something, Swift. I’ve gotta do something, and I don’t know what.” He clenched his fist and slapped his forehead. After a silence, he added in a voice full of venom, “If I knew where the Alchemist was… That devil sentenced us to death, and he knew it, I know he knew it. If I had him in my face…” He coughed and caught his breath. “I killed them, Swift. I should never have told them about the asofla. It’s all my fault. I killed them, blasthell, I killed them!”

Swift leaned close to him, his face grim, and he squeezed his shoulder to calm him.

“I’ll go get a doctor.”

“Yeah, sure, and what are you going to pay him with?” Diver sighed.

I was in one of my rare moments of lucidity, and when I heard the question, I groaned and raised my hand. The Diver took it from me. It did not help me, for my intention was to take the purse of siatos from my pocket. I moved my other hand, and at last, I managed to get it out.

“Spirits, blow me up,” Diver gasped.

Swift picked up the small bag and asked:

“How much is there?”

I moved my lips to say a “six,” but I don’t think they heard me. They counted anyway, and Swift straightened up.

“I don’t know if it will be enough for all of them, but I’m going anyway. At least to get the doctor to see them and… well, hopefully he’ll heal them. Stay here, Diver, and look after them.” He hesitated, “I’m going. Hold on, comrades.”

I breathed in with difficulty and saw through my fever the reddened eyes of Diver. On my right, lay Dil, on my left, Rogan. The Priest had his hands on his chest and was moving his lips as if he were praying. The Little Prince was sleeping. His breathing was as wheezy as mine. With effort, I croaked:

“Diver. It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of the Black Hawk. The Black Hawk and those who bought the pearls. They’re our killers. Not you.”

Diver had leaned towards me to hear me better. He clasped my hand in his, trembling.

“I know he’s in Estergat,” he whispered. “There, in the taverns… you hear things, you know? I know Frashluc helped him change his identity, but that isturbag didn’t run away. If I knew where he was, I’d kill him, mate. I’d kill him for everything he’s done to us. One thing is to be hungry, to be mistreated, insulted… It hurts, and sometimes a lot, but it heals, you know? On the other hand, to have someone put you in a mine and change you inside until you are sentenced to death…” He looked at his free hand and whispered, “I’d kill him if I could, mate. I’d cut my damned life short to cut his throat. That’s… horrible, right? That’s horrible. But I want to do it.”

I nodded and smiled faintly.

“Me too,” I admitted in a whisper.

Nat gave me a pained, lopsided smile, and after a moment’s silence, he moved away. Then I felt a small figure stir and curl up against me. It was Little Wolf. His skin was so cold in comparison! I kissed him and stopped concentrating on my jaypu for a moment to awaken the little one’s morjas. I think I didn’t quite succeed. I quickly fell back into an empty vortex, a world where neither thoughts nor memories existed, only a small voice telling me: even you, Survivor, cannot escape death.

28 The ruined house

The doctor did not come, for he dared not follow Swift, but medicine came, and miraculously our condition improved a little. I slept soundly for the first time, had a hearty breakfast, and took advantage of my lucidity to do what I should have done all along: teach Little Wolf to wake up his morjas. I spent a good while trying, until the blond boy, fed up with me bothering him and whispering necromantic advice, pulled something out from behind a rock and turned his back on me. I became exasperated.

“Little Wolf. If you don’t learn and I disappear, you’ll pop off,” I whispered. He didn’t seem to care. I snorted. “Look at me, demorjed.”

I took him by the arm to make him turn around, and I noticed, disturbed, that he was holding in his hands two bones joined by a tendon that was already starting to come off. Who knows where he’d gotten that from? From a corpse, that’s for sure, but I couldn’t figure out its nature. My confusion increased when I took his hands and felt an energy flow. I frowned, and instead of taking the toy away, I concentrated and suddenly smiled widely. Little Wolf was sucking on the morjas! He was doing it clumsily, like a puppy learning to walk. But he was unmistakably sucking it up.

Moved, I laughed, kissed him on the head, and in front of his surprised look, I said cheerfully:

“Blessed soul! This is great. If you do that, maybe you don’t even need to wake up your own morjas. That’s good news. I’ll have our comrades bring you all the bones they can find. I’ll make you a doll. A nice one. Like the one I used to have. And you’ll see how you grow, like an oak tree!”

I ruffled his hair, smiling, and leaned against the wall, pulling the blanket over me again. It was cold. All of us sokwatas were in the shelter, except for Diver and the Priest, one because, though ill, he had important “business”, and the other because, he said, he had some spare nails to get back to pay Swift for all that the gang had done for him. In fact, despite my insistence, he was still reluctant to officially join the band. The Priest was a stubborn one.

I spent the morning almost motionless, playing “I-spy” and chatting with my companions about everything. The effects of the medicine began to wear off around noon, and we were already getting tired again when some figures appeared at the dilapidated entrance to the house. When we saw two hobbits with a huge dog crossing the threshold, we all fell quiet.

“Good mother…” I muttered.

Yabir approached, glancing curiously around at the half-extinguished fire, the pretty views… He stopped, bowed gracefully, and declared in Drionsan with a horrible accent:

“Hello! I am Yabir. I already told your friend here that I would be coming. Just pretend I’m not here. I’m not here to cause any trouble: I’m just here to take notes.”

In spite of the fatigue, we had all risen. There were only seven of us: Damba, Syrdio, Venoms, my cronies, Little Wolf, and me. My attention immediately focused on Dakis. The wolf’s cursed yellow eyes pierced me, mocking. He bared his teeth at me, sat up, and looked down… at Little Wolf. A wave of fear swept over me.

“The wolf, out,” I said, forgetting to greet. “The wolf can’t come in. Either he goes out, or the three of you go out. The wolf, out,” I repeated.

I saw Yabir pout and Shokinori’s face darken. The latter muttered in Caeldric:

“Let me guess. The kid wants Dakis to go away.”

Yabir sighed.

“I told you. You shouldn’t have bring him with you.”

Shokinori let out an exasperated sigh, grunted something through his teeth, and abruptly turned around when Swift appeared on the threshold. The red-haired elf came panting in and looked like a spiky cat as he abruptly came upon intruders in his home. He stopped dead.

“Blasthell… Who are you?” he asked, altered.

I saw him hastily hide a small bottle full of pills, very similar to the medicine he had brought us the day before. Except that, the day before, he had gone to the apothecary with six siatos, and this time, he had probably done so with empty pockets and a swift hand.

In a calm and affable tone, Yabir explained his writing project and its chapter dedicated to the gwaks of Estergat. From his accent, it was obvious that they were foreigners, and calming down, Swift showed interest. He asked if the book would have pictures, how many people would read it, and such things… Despite my protests, he allowed the wolf to remain near the threshold, and as it was the decision of the kap, I had no alternative but to comply. Shokinori did tie him up with a rope, but I doubted the hobbit could keep that monster from coming after us if it felt like it…

After a while, Swift stopped talking to the hobbit. The hobbit sat down with his notebook on a stone, after removing the snow, and Swift began to distribute the pills in the shelter. When he gave me mine, I whispered to him:

“Did they see you?”

“You mean, the apothecary?” Swift shrugged and smiled. “Well, he clearly did, but I had put on a veil, like those in the north. Well, the flies hate me like the devil, but, since I was twelve, they haven’t caught me once with my hand in the cookie jar. Look at the expert and learn, namesake.” He waved the bottle of medicine and put it between two stones of a low wall, saying, “There are enough for several times. I’ll leave them there for you guys.” His smile widened, and he ruffled my hair. “I’m glad to know I won’t have to bury you so soon. Well, I’m off. Keep the house well and make sure those weirdos don’t take anything, huh? Ayo.”

“Ayo,” Manras and I replied at the same time.

The kap walked away, exchanged a few words with Yabir, and I saw him smile, satisfied, before walking away. Yabir continued to write. If the wolf had not been there, I might have approached him out of curiosity and tried to find out more about the treasure hidden in the White Opal, but with the wolf, I hardly dared to scratch my head. So when Yabir called to me in Caeldric with a “boy”, I stayed where I was and gave him a worried look. Understanding my problem, Shokinori leaned over to the wolf to rub his ears and called out in Caeldric:

“He’s not going to bite you, kid. He’s a mist hellhound. I communicate with him mentally. I know exactly when he’s angry or not. And you don’t make him angry. You amuse him, at most. And you make him a little nervous because… you reek of fear, from what he says.”

He grinned at me, and I swallowed. I caught Syrdio’s and Venoms’s mocking pouts and glared at them. Then, to my surprise, Dil pushed me gently to encourage me. Finally, not wanting my companions to call me a coward either, I stood up and approached Yabir, trying not to let the harmonies play tricks on me.

“What are you writing?” I asked, glancing at the Baïra’s notebook.

Yabir answered with a word I didn’t know and continued with a smile:

“Then I’ll put it in order.”

I blinked.

“Natural. You don’t mind if I speak in Drionsan, do you? It’s just that I haven’t spoken Caeldric for a long time,” I admitted.

The hobbit smiled broadly and spoke in Drionsan:

“Not at all. This way I learn. Just try to talk a little slower, huh? Okay. So, you live here, don’t you?” I nodded. “And… don’t you get cold at night?”

I shrugged and pointed to the almost extinguished fire.

“The comrades bring wood, and we put it there. We don’t get cold when the fire is lit,” I assured. I smiled. “Besides, this is the Rock. The ground isn’t as cold as when I lived in the valley. That’s because there’s magic down there,” I explained, kicking the ground. “That’s why the snow doesn’t last long. The Rock is the best thing in the world.”

Yabir watched me thoughtfully, playing with his pencil.

“A special rock, no doubt. They say around here that it’s sacred, don’t they? Mm… Tell me, if I told you that the Rock is full of tunnels, would you believe me?”

My face darkened, because that reminded me of the tunnels in the mine.

“Well, I don’t know. Is it?”

Yabir bobbed his head.

“Probably. According to a book at the Conservatory, it’s full of tunnels. Some lead to the old mines. Others were dug more than a hundred years ago, when the Tassians laid siege to the city, which wasn’t as populated then.”

With a voice that was both passionate and serene, he began to describe to me the city of Estergat of a hundred years ago, which apparently did not have so many districts, nor so many factories, nor so many boats on the river. This had not been the case many centuries before: once Estergat was the richest and most beautiful capital of Prospaterra. But terrible decades had come, deadly plagues, wars… Then Estergat had finally risen from its ashes, filling up with people from the Valley, from the North, from Plaar… And, ruling over all of them, the same nail-pincher families, the same Arkolda people from always.

Yalet had never told me anything about the history of the city. He’d mentioned a few events, yes, but at the Peak, he always went back to his lessons on locks and burglar traps. So what I knew of history I’d learned from Yerris and the newspapers… Well, let’s just say I didn’t know any more about history than I did about geography, and I was impressed that the Undergrounder, being a complete foreigner, knew more about my city than I did.

As Yabir made the effort to speak in Drionsan, more than one gwak decided to approach, and we ended up sitting in the shelter around the hobbit, listening to his wise and cheerful voice. He was smaller than Syrdio or Venoms, and yet how much he knew! He told us of his life in the Great Library of Yadibia, of daily life in his city, of some of the jokes that were made there about those “strange beings on whose heads a ball of fire beat every day”. He knew a lot of things, but he also had a sense of humour, and after a while, I found myself looking at him, my heart swelling with admiration, and I imagined that I was becoming a Baïra like him, that I was becoming a scholar and that I was starting to write a chronicle… How far from reality I was! But as my master had said to me one day: dream and perhaps you will see your dream come true, do not dream and even imagination will not come to your aid. He had said something like that to me once, long ago, when I had asked him to turn me into a bone dragon. His answer had left me pondering for days, until I realized that my master was simply unable to turn me into a bone dragon.

Manras, Damba, and I kept asking Yabir questions, especially to explain words he knew only in Caeldric. And why this and why that… Finally, the poor hobbit, saturated, declared:

“Well, young people! The shadows will soon cover your Rock, and it is time for me to return to my own refuge. I said I wasn’t going to bother you and here I am, telling you stories upon stories!” He smiled and raised an index finger. “I just want to ask you a few questions, since I’ve answered yours. Is that okay with you?”

We nodded. I rubbed my face. My eyelids were closing with fatigue, and my fever was coming back. Several of the gwaks of the band had already returned, but once they knew what these intruders were doing there, most of them had decided to ignore them, and they had stayed outside or sat on the ruined walls, passing the time, chatting, smoking smograss, and chewing rodaria.

As I let my hands fall, I suddenly saw Rogan and Swift on the threshold. I saw the former give money to the latter before they both entered and walked around the wolf lying near the “entrance” to the ruined house. Diver followed them, looking exhausted.

“Well,” Yabir muttered. Clearly, the presence of so many gwaks was beginning to make him uncomfortable. “Just a few questions. If it’s not too much to ask, I’d like you to tell me, each of you, how you ended up here.”

Manras answered abruptly, pointing to the kap:

“Swift! This is Swift’s house. And, we’re from his gang. See that?” he asked, and with evident satisfaction rolled up his sleeve over his dark arm to show him his scar. “I did that with a knife, and now, this is my house.”

“Ah, uh… sure, but… what about before?” Yabir questioned, pencil ready to write on the notebook. “Your name is Manras, isn’t it? How old are you?”

“Eight. I’ll be nine by the end of winter, just like Dil,” the little dark elf announced proudly.

“A real little man,” Yabir teased. “And… tell me, Manras. Have you always lived on the streets? Don’t you have parents?”

Manras made himself reserved, and when he did not answer, Yabir cleared his throat. Swift leaned against a wall without interruption, and Rogan came to sit beside me, looking half-awake.

“Sorry,” the hobbit apologized. “I don’t want to stir up any bad memories. I just wish I had more details about you so I could put them in my chronicle. Examples give life to the theory. I see you, big and small mixed up in a street gang, and I can’t avoid wondering where you came from and why you’re here.”

‘Why are we here,’ I repeated to myself mentally. I shook my head, puzzled. What exactly did he mean? It was Damba who answered:

“Because I’m better off here. Much better.”

“Better than where?” Yabir asked curiously.

“Than in the hospice,” Diver replied, sitting down heavily.

“Than on the roads,” Venoms intervened.

“Than at home,” Damba said earnestly. “At home, it was hell. That’s why I legged it.”

“You… legged it,” Yabir repeated while writing in his notebook. “At what age?”

Damba made a vague gesture as he calculated.

“Two years ago. A little before my ninth birthday. Sometimes I come back. But only when Father and Mother aren’t there. I go see my siblings,” he explained. “And I bring them some money. Because they are very poor and I help them out.”

Yabir nodded with a thoughtful pout. I already knew the story of Damba. They were things that gwaks in a band told each other. Sharing one’s story meant sharing experiences, and most of them had no one to listen to but their mates. But, this time, we had a learned hobbit who was a little interested in us. So the others decided to tell their stories too. Syrdio said that he had grown up in a hospice until he was seven, and that he had run away with Swift for reasons similar to Damba. Venoms said her earliest memories were of a bunch of brats begging on the roads. Manras and Dil remained silent. Diver had fallen into a deep sleep after taking the medicine. Rogan briefly told his story of being a child of Charity, a chimney sweep, and eventually a Priest, gwak, and artist.

“Artist,” Yabir repeated, amused. “No doubt you have the vocation.”

“No doubt,” Rogan agreed mockingly.

“All he needs is a hat,” I interjected. “He still has one, but some isturbags took it away from him. I will give him one some day. Believe me, Priest,” I assured him, giving him a push, for he did not seem to believe me. “But only when I get some money; right now I haven’t got a nail. A top hat of extra quality. I swear to the Spirits.”

“Pff, stop swearing, Sharpy,” Rogan replied, obviously flattered by the promise. “Besides, you want the hat for yourself.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Dirty-minded Priest,” I said indignantly.

“Your mother.”

“Demorjed,” I smiled.

Rogan was about to continue on when Yabir stood up and said:

“Young people. Thank you for everything. Your company has been and will be unforgettable and… er… uplifting? They say that, don’t they?”

We greeted his pompous words with laughter, and I protested:

“Say, Yabir. Don’t forget to put me in the chapter, huh? You didn’t write anything about me in the notebook.”

Yabir smiled.

“You will appear, no doubt, trust me.” He bowed. “Good evening, young people.”

Swift shook hands with him, and as our learned guest walked away, a thought suddenly occurred to me. Despite my fatigue, I got up and ran to the hobbits.

“Yabir!” I said. I trotted out of the ruined house. “Yabir! Don’t put anything about the Black Daggers in the book, eh? Korther wouldn’t like that. Yal once told me that discretion is a thief’s most precious jewel…”

I fell silent as I realized how bold I had been to come so close to the wolf. The wolf was barely a step away from me.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Yabir replied in Caeldric. “I will not speak of your brotherhood.”

I swallowed, and taking a step back, whispered:

“It’s not my brotherhood anymore. They kicked me out. But I don’t want them to think I’m a snitch… Thanks. And also for the visit. Will you come back?” I asked.

“Uh… like I told that kid you call Swift, I don’t know,” Yabir admitted. “I have material to make a short chapter, but I wouldn’t mind making it longer… Would you like me to come back?”

I smiled and nodded fervently.

“I do. I would love to. Today was not a good day. I’m sick. But, another time, maybe I can help you a little more with the chronicle and… I liked the stories you told. My… my master used to tell me a lot of them,” I muttered.

Yabir was smiling slightly.

“Yes. That’s what you told me the other day. Okay… well, then, maybe I’ll make up my mind and come back one of these days.”

I bit my lip, smiling, and scratched my head as I stepped back.

“Well… ayo then,” I said. I looked at Shokinori, at the wolf, and repeated, “Ayo.”

The wolf wagged his tail. I came back to the doorway and watched them as they went down the slope. I felt Swift leaning against the wall beside me. He handed me a half-burned cigar. I took it, and he asked:

“Where do you know him from?”

“Bah… Thanks to a Black Dagger matter,” I explained, inhaling the smograss. “Korther has a deal with them. They’re celmists. Real mages. They’re even looking for some magical treasure, you know. Well, Yabir says he’s not, that what they’re looking for is a secret passage back home, down under. But it would be great if they found a treasure, don’t you think?”

“What treasure?” Swift inquired, puzzled.

I shrugged.

“Dunno. Maybe it doesn’t even exist. Yabir says it’s just a legend. But that some legends may be true. If we found the treasure, we’d become filthy nail-pinchers, you do realize it, namesake, don’t you?” I smiled and pouted, “But Yabir says he doesn’t want to look for it. It’s a slugbonery to not try. It must be pretty damn fun to look for treasure.” I leaned against the wall near the kap and sucked in the cigar smoke. “Say, Swift. What would you do if you were a nail-pincher?”

Swift did not answer immediately. After a silence, he said:

“Buy me a house. A real one. And get married in the temple. Have children. And send them to school.” He turned to me with a mocking pout. “What about you, namesake?”

My view was lost on the houses across the street as I replied:

“I’d go to the Storm Hills.”

“Good mother, and where is that?” Swift asked, surprised.

“Very far,” I said. “I don’t know exactly, I’d have to go look at a map. Do you know where there are maps?”

Swift took the cigar from me and nodded.

“In the Capitol, there’s one in the main hall. It takes up a whole wall. It’s huge. Have you never been there?”

I shook my head. Yal worked there, but I had never been inside. At the Swallow, Yum was always in charge of bringing messages to the Capitol: he was the one who knew the backstage of that great public palace best.

“I’ll take a look tomorrow,” I decided, stepping away from the wall. “By the way, Swift, thanks for the medicine.”

Without moving the cigar away from his mouth, the red-haired elf smiled and muttered:

“You’re welcome, namesake. It’s natural: we’re family, right?”

I smiled broadly and intoned:

Sons of the same earth and breed.
Sons of our Patron Saint.
Sons of the same misery
that brought us down here!

“Isturbag,” Swift laughed. “It looks like you’re getting better. Where did you get that song from?”

“From Carnation, natural!” I replied.

I caught Swift’s mocking expression before I entered the house. The sky was already very dark, and Ragok had just started the fire. I found a good spot near Rogan and Diver, lay down, and, driven by fatigue and fever, fell asleep almost immediately. I dreamed that I was in the valley, lying under the stars. I admired them, counted them, and said to them: ayo. And they would take off their caps and kindly answer me: ayo.

29 I cursed the devil and made a partner

“That one, that one,” Swift said. “He’s hammered.”

In fact, the passer-by who had just left the tavern was walking in a zigzag pattern, totally drunk.

“Your turn, Sharpy,” Diver muttered.

I nodded.

“I’m going.”

After glancing at the deserted street and the light of the street lamps, I trotted out of the portico, approached the drunkard, and following Swift’s advice, pushed him, knocked him off his feet, and threw him against the ground. My victim sank to the ground with a muffled cry. I shoved my hands into his pockets and quickly pulled out all I could before turning and running away, pursued by the drunkard’s pasty screams. At last, I reached the end of the street and rejoined my companions.

“Done!” I announced cheerfully.

“Damn, you’re good at this, namesake,” Swift congratulated as he kept what I’d collected. “I knew this one was a son of a nail-pincher. There’s at least three goldies, even after he went through the tavern. What I can’t believe is that nobody plucked him before…”

We heard a whistle. We sat up. It was Manras’ alarm signal. It meant: flies are coming.

“Let’s leg it out of here,” Swift muttered.

We decamped, and the kap went ahead, because he was carrying the loot. All in all, we had accumulated several thefts that night. We were going to be able to buy the karuja without any problem. As a matter of fact, since the illness, we didn’t dare chew asofla, in case it was poisonous for us too.

I walked briskly with Diver, and we joined Manras, and without seeing or knowing, we disappeared from the Tarmil Quarter and took refuge in the Cat Quarter. There we caught up with the kap in the Grey Square and made our way back together. We were descending the stairs of the Labyrinth which led directly to Sheer Cliff Street when Diver took me by the arm and said:

“Sharpy. Remember you said you owed me one?”

I huffed.

“Natural, I remember.”

I did not remind him that I had told him that I owed him even two if he wanted; in any case, if he had asked me for two favours, I would probably have done them willingly.

“Then come and I’ll explain on the way. You go with Swift, shyur,” he added for Manras, seeing him approach curiously.

“Wait,” I said. I took out of my pocket two bones that I had found, already a little gnawed by the dogs, but still firm. “Give them to Little Wolf. Master still lacks arms. I’ll put them on it when I get back. With these, his doll will be perfect.”

“Perfectly macabre,” Diver scoffed.

I gave the bones to Manras, and we saluted Swift before turning and climbing the stairs again. The steps were covered with ash. For three days a black cloud as dense as that which had come at the end of the summer had settled over the Rock, and it kept throwing up ash. All our clothes and faces were ashen. Some said that the people of Plaar to the south were attacking us with new weapons loaded with disease. Others said that the volcanoes of Ushimaka were awakening again, which was a good sign for some and a bad sign for others… Well, good sign or bad sign, I was glad that we no longer needed to renew our wood supply: the ash somehow warmed the air, and even though winter had officially begun, it was not cold and there was not a trace of snow.

We entered an alley, and finally, I broke the silence:

“What’s the matter, comrade? You in trouble?”

Everything was so dark that I could barely see Diver.

“No way. You’re the one in trouble,” he replied.

I arched my eyebrows, and when he didn’t explain, I said, puzzled:

“Me?”

Diver fumbled, grabbed me by the arm, and said:

“You, Sharpy. They’re looking for you.”

My eyes widened.

“Good mother, who? The flies?”

“Mmph. I don’t know. Why would the flies be looking for you?”

I laughed in disbelief.

“Do you really ask why?”

Because I was a thief, a robber, and a professional beggar perhaps? But they didn’t know that, did they? I frowned and admitted:

“I don’t know.”

“Some guy is offering a ten-goldy reward for you,” Diver announced suddenly.

I was stunned and dumbfounded. He pulled me by the sleeve, and we sat down on the step of a small staircase.

“Ten goldies,” I muttered, dumbfounded. “But… who is that guy?”

“He appeared at The Drawer about six o’clock in the afternoon, when the Albino was there,” Diver explained. “He said he wasn’t a fly, but someone followed him out of the Labyrinth, and, guess what, he was lying like a ruffian: he’s a fly. And he said he was your brother!” he added with a stifled laugh.

I grimaced. Blasthell. It must be Kakzail. But why was my older brother looking for me? Did it have anything to do with…? A sudden possibility made me jump to my feet.

“He found the cure!” I gasped. “Diver, that guy… I bet he’s really my brother. It’s Kakzail. He knows where the alchemist is. And if he’s looking for me… that means the gnome has found the cure!”

My words were followed by silence. Then Diver made a strangled sound.

“I can’t believe it! Your brother is a fly?”

I turned pale.

“He is,” I confirmed. “But he’s not a bad guy. A little weird, but that’s it. Listen, did he say where to go for the reward? Who knows, he may give it to me,” I joked. But deep down, I wondered if it was so inconceivable that he would give it to me.

I heard my friend sigh and get up.

“You ruined my plan, really, you did,” he admitted. “There’s another guy who offered me five goldies to find you and go see him. A guy who’s a friend of yours, apparently. His name is Daln Asaveo. You know him, right?”

“Ragingly so,” I said, amused. How could I not know Le Bor when I knew him better than my older brother?

Diver continued:

“Well. So he heard the fly story, and he wants to help you. But, obviously, if he hears that you’re in no danger, he’s not going to give me a nail. It doesn’t matter,” he assured. “Anyway, I’m glad the flies aren’t looking for you. What I was going to ask you is something else that has nothing to do with it. Let’s go.”

We continued to move through the Labyrinth, and I waited curiously for my companion to say what he wanted me to do for him.

“I know where the Black Hawk lives,” he whispered at last. “Wheel Road. Riskel. In a gambling house.”

We came to the Spirit Square and the light of a distant street lamp gently lit our faces. Diver smiled at my apprehensive expression.

“What do you think?” he asked.

What did he mean, what did I think? He’d just told me where the one who’d mutated us and locked us in a mine for two moons was, and he was asking me what I thought? I stirred, worried. The place was deserted, except for one man who was fast asleep on a cart.

“You want to go kill him?” I muttered.

“I want to, yes,” Diver asserted. “But if I go into that den, I won’t come out alive, I’m sure of it. I’m not crazy. I’m not going to kill myself. But I want him to know that I hate him to death. So… I bought some red paint. To use on the wall of that house. And I want you to write: ‘you’re going to hell, Black Hawk’. I would to do it myself, but I can’t write. What do you say?”

The idea appealed to me at once. I smiled broadly.

“Fantastic! I’ll add some sign I know, and it’ll come out in the papers and everything… And… oh, blasthell, that’s a great idea!” I enthused, leaping up. “Wait. What if we add a signature? A gwak signature. But one that he can’t understand, of course. Like… a… a…”

“I’ll take care of that,” Diver decided. And, encouraged by my enthusiasm, he said, “Let’s go.”

We went to retrieve the paint from a cavity and made our way through Estergat, taking the darkest streets. By the time we reached Wheel Road, four o’clock in the night had struck, and although there was still noise in some of the taverns, the street was deserted. We crept under a porch, out of the light. All the way there, we had hardly exchanged a word: I had not stopped to mentally picture all the signs I had to draw. I was still having trouble with some of them, and honest, I told Diver in a whisper in our shelter. He shrugged.

“Who cares, as long as anyone can understand that we’re cursing him.” He pointed to a house, stepped back again, and said, “That’s the one. As far as I know. We have to be quick. If anyone sees us, we leave the paint and run. Ready?”

I nodded. We waited for the watchman to pass, and when he went away, we rushed in with the can of paint. Our brushes were simple sticks with a rag attached to the end. I dipped mine in the bucket and began to write the message, very large, on the front of the gambling house. I did it all with such speed that I almost thought I was a scribe. I added a few random Caeldric signs, and Diver whispered:

“What’s that?”

“Witchcraft,” I replied, stifling a laugh.

I saw that my companion had added with his improvised brush a rather successful drawing of a skull and crossbones. I whistled through my teeth.

“Impressive, Nat.”

“Yours are too,” he acknowledged.

We exchanged a knowing smile, and considering that more embellishing wouldn’t make up for the risk of getting caught, we threw away the pot and the brushes and ran up the hill. We were just reaching the end of the street when we heard a shout behind us and a:

“Hey, you there!”

We accelerated and turned into the Rose Street. We were about halfway down the street when I saw uniformed figures appear at the end, and grabbing Diver, I led us into a dead end and wrapped us in harmonic shadows. I thought of taking refuge at The Serene, but then I told myself that it was one thing for the girls to fondle a gwak and another to hide him from the authorities. Better to get out of there without asking anyone for help.

We saw the patrol pass, and without further ado, we left the dead end and continued our escapade, but this time, it was I who was leading, from corner to corner, from shelter to shelter. I even looked like a real Black Dagger! We avoided all the watchers and finally arrived at the river of Estergat. Once there, we washed our hands and examined ourselves in case we had paint splatters. Comforted by the fact that we saw no stains, we made our way back home, commenting on our hit and laughing out loud. The ash continued to fall, but it wasn’t like snow, and a light breeze was enough to erase our tracks. But it would not be able to erase our fervent curse painted in red. Let that rat Black Hawk know that we, the gwaks of the mine, were still of this world!

Back at the refuge, I slept like a lebrine bear. So much so that, when I woke up, I noticed that most of my companions had already left, including my cronies. Probably gone to beg at the temple. It must have been almost noon already.

“Gosh,” I yawned, sitting up straight. Accomplishing revenge sure disrupted the schedule. I noticed the little ball that had been put in my pocket and swallowed the karuja before throwing out, “Ayo, Little Wolf!”

The mute little one looked up from his doll, and I came up on all fours, asking:

“How is the Master? Where are the bones Manras brought you?”

Little Wolf showed them to me, and I spent a good deal of time hanging them on the miniature nakrus, weaving the stems to use as string. The Little Wolf watched my work with intense attention, and when I gave him the finished doll, he was beaming with happiness, and he began to walk it around the shelter.

“Hey! Don’t break it, eh? It’s fragile,” I warned him. “Well, it’s easy to repair too. There’s no shortage of bones. But that’s no reason to break the Master, eh, shyur? Come on, today we’ll go see someone you already know. The one with the bed and the hot stove, remember? Come on, let’s get a move on, gwak!” I encouraged him.

I took him by the hand, and greeting the gwaks who were still there, I walked away in the direction of The Joyful Spirit. Instead of going through the Labyrinth, I decided to go around it, going up the path of the Timid River. We reached the dead end of the tavern, climbed the wooden stairs, and I knocked on the door of Le Bor.

No one came to open. After a while, I sat down with Little Wolf on a step and sighed. I might wait for him all day in vain. Perhaps he had even changed his residence. Little Wolf and I were in the middle of a contest of faces and grimaces, the ruder the better, when the back door of the tavern opened, and… Le Bor appeared. I smiled broadly and stood up.

“Ayo, sir!”

“Kid,” Le Bor greeted, with a half-smiling, half-strained pout. He glanced toward the entrance to the dead end, met the gaze of a scruffy Cat who was shuffling past, and turned to me. “What about the other boy I sent to get you? I promised him five siatos.”

“Ah, well, fork out, I’ll give them to him for you, he’s a mate of mine,” I assured him. “Well, he said you wouldn’t give them to him, because you thought that the fly who was looking for me was following orders, but in fact it’s not that; he’s my brother for real. If you want, I’ll explain.”

Le Bor looked at me with that owlish expression which frightened me a little. Passing by me, he said:

“Let’s go inside.”

We went in, and I began to tell him in a lively tone:

“See, the thing is, I didn’t know I had a family before. But when I got out of Carnation, I found out I did. They lost me in the Valley—”

“They gave you up for being a pain in the ass, you mean,” Le Bor scoffed as he set two glasses on the table and took out a bottle. “Sit down.”

“Well, they say it was an accident,” I assured him, taking a seat. I accepted the drink he handed me and continued, “And Kakzail, my older brother, well, he was a gladiator in Tassia. He’s a real warrior. That’s why they took him as a fly, I guess… Is that blue wine?”

“Celestial radrasia,” Le Bor declared, raising his own glass. “The finest vintage. Go on.”

I took a sip of the clear blue liquid and nearly spat it out. I swallowed and felt my mouth as if on fire.

“Good mother!” I coughed. “It killed me, Bor—I mean, sir, sorry. By the way, did Frashluc give you back the eight hundred and forty?”

Le Bor’s eyes sparkled.

“As if he’d give them back to me, Four-Hundred. You don’t know Frashluc well. He wouldn’t believe me when I told him that Coldpalm had given them to me… I can be glad he didn’t mistake me for one of Gowbur’s accomplices. I got out of that mess pretty well… and, besides, that way I learned, somewhat by accident, that you are… or rather, that you were a Black Dagger.”

Under his watchful eye, I shrugged and nodded.

“Round.”

“Mm. You didn’t tell me you were one of the kids kidnapped by the Black Hawk either,” Le Bor added calmly.

I looked at him, but I could not make out his thoughts. I repeated:

“Round.”

“And… I understand these kids are very addicted to karuja,” Le Bor completed.

As he took a sip of his drink, his eyes never left me. I grimaced and nodded silently, confirming. A little nervously, I looked away and focused my attention on Little Wolf. The little one had half stuffed himself under the bed with the Master. I saw that he was lifting its two skeletal legs to make it walk on its hands, and I laughed quietly. My nakrus master wouldn’t have been able to clown around like that, that’s for sure, not because he didn’t want to but because he lacked agility.

Le Bor broke the silence.

“If you’ve been a Black Dagger, you must know how to make harmonies.”

I nodded, turning back to him with pride.

“Natural that I know. I’m an expert.”

“Then perhaps we can make a deal,” Le Bor mused. He looked down at my glass and frowned. “Don’t tell me you don’t like celestial radrasia.”

I made an apologetic pout.

“It beastly burns. I prefer normal radrasia.”

“Gwaks,” Le Bor scoffed. “Don’t you know that refusing a host’s drink is an unforgivable offense?” I made a face like no, I didn’t know that, and he sighed, holding out his hand. “Give me that.” He drank it in one gulp, and without showing the slightest sign of inebriation, he resumed, “So, you say, it’s not the flies that are after you, but your family. Tell me, Four-Hundred. Do you know that many fathers wouldn’t pay ten goldies to get a son back? In the Black Quarter, you’d be more likely to find one willing to sell his offspring for that price and less.”

This left me speechless. The night before, I had not seen the matter from that perspective. Finally, I shook my head.

“It’s not the barber who pays, it’s my older brother. He’s the one who knows the whereabouts of the alchemist who’s looking for a cure for sokwata. I don’t know if you know the whole story…”

“I know enough,” Le Bor asserted, thoughtfully. “Mmph. To think you have a brother in the police… I pity you, Four-Hundred, that’s some bad luck you have!”

He laughed mockingly, and I shrugged uncomfortably. I leisurely swung my feet, and after a silence, said:

“Earlier, you said something about a deal.”

Le Bor nodded and leaned over the table confessing:

“I was thinking of making you a partner. But with that brother of yours… it’d be kind of a drag if you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.”

I looked at him, indignant and excited at the same time.

“I can hold my tongue, Bor. Did you say a partner?” I enthused.

Le Bor abruptly hit the table and whistled:

“No Bor, damn you…”

I turned pale as I saw a murderous glint in his eyes.

“Sorry, sir. Sir, sir, sir,” I repeated earnestly as if to burn it into my mind. I bit my lip and smiled again as I repeated, “Partner?”

Le Bor looked at me. Incredibly enough, the radrasia did not seem to affect him much. He motioned for me to come closer. I obeyed.

“First,” he said, “go see that fly brother of yours and solve that matter you have to deal with.” I nodded. “Fine. If you tell him about me, even if it’s under the name of Mr. Asaveo, I’ll kick you in the butt until you don’t feel it anymore.”

I rolled my eyes and nodded again. Suddenly, Le Bor grabbed me by the collar of my coat and hissed through my teeth:

“I mean it, kid.”

I didn’t doubt it. I became exasperated.

“I know, sir. I ain’t no snitch.”

“No? And why wouldn’t you report me to your own brother, Four-Hundred?” Le Bor replied without letting go of me. “Maybe because you helped me escape? Is that what’s keeping you from tattling?”

I looked at him, puzzled and hurt.

“No,” I protested with complete sincerity. “It’s not that. I’d never betray you, Bor. I mean, sir. For real. I swear.”

Le Bor looked me in the eye and let go.

“Then why?” he sighed.

I fidgeted, not knowing what to say. Finally, as Le Bor said nothing, despite the shame I felt in saying so, I stammered:

“B-because you were nice to me and… because I like you.”

Le Bor arched his eyebrows. He pondered my answer for a moment. Then he smiled, his face mocking.

“How much do they pay you to kiss my ass, Four-Hundred?”

If I hadn’t already had a naturally dark complexion, I would have turned red as a tomato. I huffed.

“Go blow yourself up.”

Le Bor laughed, and taking me by the shoulders with a strong arm, shook me, exclaiming:

“The Four-Hundred likes me! For once, I’ll believe you. Listen, go and see that brother, and tomorrow at midnight, come to Fal Bridge, South Bank, without fail. You know where that is, don’t you?”

“Natural,” I whispered. It was near Evening Park, in the Tarmil Quarter. I looked at him, puzzled. “What are we going to do at Fal Bridge?”

“Mm-mm,” Le Bor refused to answer. “No questions asked.”

I jumped up and down excitedly.

“We’re gonna blow up the bridge!”

Le Bor rolled his eyes.

“I said no questions. If you love me so much, make sure it doesn’t change, right? Blow up the bridge,” he repeated, incredulously. “You’ve got some crazy revolutionary ideas, Four-Hundred. And, now, get the hell out and do what you have to do. If anything unexpected happens, let me know. If you can’t let me know or if you’re late, we won’t wait for you. And, of course, you’ll lose your share.”

“My share,” I repeated eloquently.

“Two goldies,” Le Bor clarified. “Without much effort on your part… if it’s true that you can do harmonies.”

I smiled. It was all becoming more and more mysterious.

“I’ll be there,” I promised. “At midnight. Okay. Is the lady coming too?”

“Taka? Of course not,” Le Bor snorted.

“Oh,” I said, a little disappointed. “It’s just that, since you said ‘we won’t wait for you’, I thought—”

“No,” Le Bor cut me off. “She won’t be there. Maybe if you come tomorrow and do everything right, you can see her. You seemed to like her, too, by the way,” he scoffed.

I made a comical pout.

“Yes, but without the soap,” I confessed. “Well. Ayo, sir. Little Wolf!” I called. “Let’s go and see the bearded brother. Stop moving the poor Master around. What, you’ve already messed him up? I mean, when you take your fingers out of your nose, you clean them like this, on the coat, you understand? Not on the Master. That’s gross. If he knew, good mother, if he knew… he’d turn you into a slug! Come on, Little Wolf, hurry up.”

I led him out, closed the door behind me, and we set off in the direction of Tarmil.

30 Looking for a bearded fly

As Little Wolf had very short legs, we did not go very fast. When we reached Tarmil Avenue, I realized that I did not know where to find Kakzail. If I had thought of it earlier, I could have asked Le Bor… But I hadn’t. So I was left with three options: either ask after Kakzail at the police station, or go back to Le Bor, or… go to the barber shop. I dismissed the first option immediately as very unpleasant, the second out of laziness, and the third out of apprehension. Fortunately, I had a fourth option.

I walked up the avenue to the Esplanade. The two o’clock bells were already ringing when I started to climb the big staircase that led to the Capitol. It was the first time I had ever entered there. My main purpose was to seek out Yal, for I had come to the conclusion that, without a doubt, Kakzail had inquired about me with him, and surely Yal knew where to find the gladiator. As I entered the huge main hall, however, I remembered the map that Swift had told me about two weeks ago, and seeing it there, so imposing, I hastened to approach, half dragging the little one behind me, who in turn was dragging the Master.

The map took up an entire wall. It was breathtaking. It started at a height of about two meters and extended to the roof. It took me a moment to understand what it represented. And I was disappointed to see that the names of the cities were written with Owram signs. It was hard to understand, but wait a minute! There, under each name, a smaller version appeared, translated into Drionsan. I squinted, read “Okbot,” and already feeling dizzy from lifting my head so much, I lowered it and said to Little Wolf:

“This map sucks.”

Mostly because the town of Okbot was in the left corner of the map and was part of Prospaterra while the Storm Hills were supposed to be further away. Conclusion: they weren’t on the map. I looked at the golden edges with some fear, wondering how far the Storm Hills were from Estergat. I glanced around and met the eyes of an official who was watching me. He walked towards me, unhurriedly, perhaps thinking that I was going to run away from the Capitol. Instead, I approached him.

“Sir, ayo. I’m looking for my cousin. He works here as a secretary. His name is Yalet Ferpades.” Seeing that the official’s face didn’t light up, I clarified, “He works with papers and stuff. You know him?”

At last, my interlocutor pointed out some tables where people were being welcomed.

“Wait there, and someone will take care of you.”

I nodded politely.

“It runs.”

I had just sat down on a bench with Little Wolf when I recognized a figure that made my hair stand on end. It was not Korther, nor Frashluc, nor the Black Hawk… It was Lowen. He was dressed like a little gentleman and was listening absent-mindedly to the conversation of a group of adults, among whom was a human woman in a pretty white and blue dress and a large yellow hat. I couldn’t see her well, but by the way she looked, I could tell who she was. Lowen Frashluc’s mother.

‘If you speak one word to the kid, if you look at him, you are dead.’

The Albino’s warning rang in my head like an alarm, almost as insistently as the bong of the mine did when I was hungry. I pulled up the collar of my coat as much as I could, covered my face with my left hand, took Little Wolf with my other hand, and initiated the retreat with all possible discretion. Then that isturbagged Little Wolf began to pull me from the other side.

“Little Wolf!” I hissed.

Little Wolf was crying. He hadn’t had time to pick up the Master, whom he’d set up so nicely on the bench. I glanced desperately at the group of nail-pinchers, and we quickly returned to the bench. I took the Master, handed him to Little Wolf, and whispered:

“We’re dashing outta here.”

I lifted him in my arms and trotted towards the exit. I was almost at the threshold when a surprised voice called out:

“Draen?”

My heart skipped a beat, I sped up and braked all at once when I came upon a dark elf dressed in the Swallow’s uniform. It was Yum. Damn. I couldn’t just run out now without even greeting my former workmate, could I? Struggling not to turn my head towards Lowen, I cleared my throat:

“Hey, Yum. Long time no see.”

The dark elf looked at me and Little Wolf curiously.

“Three weeks at least,” he agreed. “We haven’t seen you back at the office. Did you get another job?”

I shook my head.

“I got very sick. And then… I thought the director must have fired me already.”

Yum huffed.

“That, no doubt he has. He fired you a long time ago. That’s unfortunate. If you’d sent a note saying you were sick, maybe he’d have thought twice about it.”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, skeptically. “The director had taken a dislike to me.”

“Mmph. On the contrary,” Yum assured. “No offense, but not everyone agrees to hire a foreign kid fresh out of prison. Bosses don’t like trouble. Like they say, put your head down and they’ll put a bag over your shoulders, don’t put it down and they’ll cut it off,” he quoted, his expression fatalistic. “Well, I have to keep working. Whenever you like, drop by the Esplanade, in front of the manticore, about seven o’clock. We always get together around that time; the usual gang, you know. In case you feel like chatting. Have a nice day.”

Smiling, he ruffled Little Wolf’s hair. The latter, hoisted between my arms, was staring at him with his blue eyes. I snorted and smiled.

“Ayo and thank you for the invitation,” I replied.

Yum waved as he put his hand to his cap and hurried toward the inner stairs of the Capitol. The Swallow at your service, I muttered mentally. Well, come to think of it, I wasn’t sorry I’d given up the courier service: it barely gave me enough to eat, so it wouldn’t have been enough to feed Little Wolf, and I wouldn’t have been able to help out at night with Swift. Now I was living like the Patron Saint.

I was about to resume my silent retreat when suddenly I saw Yal appear at the back of the room with a cart full of boxes. The lady from Frashluc was still talking… And Lowen was looking at me. The little nail-pincher had recognized me. Blasthell, and what did it matter. I turned and walked eagerly towards my cousin. With people coming and going, Yal didn’t see me until I tugged on his sleeve and said:

“Hi, Yal.”

He stopped short and looked at me, his eyes round with surprise.

“Mothers of the Light,” he pronounced at last. He glanced around before signaling his cart. “I’ll hand these out and be right back. Don’t move from here, eh?”

I nodded, and finding that Little Wolf was half asleep, instead of putting him down, I went and sat down in the nearest corner without letting go of him. When I looked back towards the Capitol entrance, I saw neither Lowen nor his mother. Well… Breathing more quietly, I waited wisely for Yal to return. Perhaps a quarter of an hour later he reappeared, and not seeing me at once, huffed in exasperation:

“Don’t tell me he’s gone…”

“I’m here,” I said. I tried to wake Little Wolf up, but it was to no avail: he did not want to walk, he was tired.

Yal looked me up and down as I stood up. He breathed in.

“Well. I asked for a few minutes break. Let’s head outside. You know Kakzail has been looking for you for almost half a moon?” he added as we headed for the exit.

“Precisely,” I said. “I’m looking for him too.”

Yal arched an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Really?”

“Well… I figured if he’s looking for me, it’s because the alchemist found the cure, right?” I reasoned.

Yal looked at me with a startled expression, shook his head, and without answering, he went out. I followed him, somewhat bewildered by his silence. The ash continued to fall, and though the sweepers cleaned it several times a day, the Esplanade was grey. Carriages kicked up clouds of dust, and sajits bustled about, some chattering, others getting off omnibuses or walking briskly without hardly looking around. If they had, they would have seen the bands of gwaks, slipping through the crowd like tadpoles in a turbulent river. They would have seen the cripples gathering near the Great Temple to reach out to the merciful. And, well, they would have seen my world. A world that interested them no more than a handful of ashes.

I blew away a large piece of ash which fluttered before my eyes and followed Yal. Instead of going down the staircase, my master took the wide walk along the front of the Capitol and sat down on an isolated bench. He took out a snack from his pocket, looked up at me, and said:

“Tell me how you could do this, Mor-eldal. Tell me how you could do this to Korther.”

His voice was neither dry nor accusatory; it vibrated with disappointment and disbelief. I looked away and sat with Little Wolf in silence. It didn’t surprise me that he was talking about this: I knew he would. It was plain as day he would. And yet… I was so hoping that Yal wouldn’t push me away like Korther had… I swallowed my nervousness as best I could.

“Frashluc was holding Rogan prisoner,” I explained. “I had to save him.”

Yal let out a sardonic laugh.

“Save him, ah, sure. Look, we all make mistakes, but yours was just epic, Mor-eldal. How can you have the idea of bringing that gang leader’s grandson into your own kap’s office? When I heard about this, I was flabbergasted. I didn’t know where to put myself. And I once told Korther that you were a promising kid… merciful spirits. And then you disappear without even making the effort to come and see me. Look at me.”

I turned my head towards him and looked him in his eye. I felt contrite, irritated, and relieved all at once. Contrite, because I had disappointed my master; irritated, because he was bringing up a subject I didn’t want to talk about; and relieved, because… well, because I was happy to talk to my cousin, even if he did give me a shout-out. A scolding now and then was even comforting. Even a good spanking could be. Unfortunately, Yal wasn’t very good at lecturing. He resumed in a calmer voice:

“Have you ever asked yourself what you want to do with your life, Mor-eldal? Look at me,” he repeated. I looked up again. He, with the snack still intact in his hands, continued: “You live on the street, I suppose. Probably with a bunch of gwaks, and with that little one… With Manras, Dil, and the Priest you saved like a hero. All right, Draen. Tell me truly, where will you go from here? What are your plans for the future? I’m asking you seriously.”

I looked at him without replying before I realized that he was really waiting for an answer. So I bit my lip, shook my head and said:

“I want to do what you did. I want to go to school. I want to learn. I’m… I’m saving up nails so… uh… I can go to school,” I lied.

I don’t know why I told him that lie. I think because I wanted Yal to look at me with a little more consideration. Immediately, it seemed ridiculous, I ran a hand over my face and rectified, ashamed:

“No. That’s not true. I don’t have a nail.”

Yal looked at me with that look on his face that seems to think, “What in the world is this gwak telling me?” I let my hand fall back, and nervously changed the subject.

“I regret very much all that with Korther. He wouldn’t even see me. He chased me right out. Rolg says, if the kap sees me, he pops me off. And if I talk to Lowen, Frashluc will pop me off. It’s a good thing you can’t be popped off twice. I’d have to turn into a lich for that. Liches always die twice. That’s what my master said…” I huffed. “Damn. Every time I think about it… I’m such a pathetic loser. The funny thing is that, right now, things aren’t so bad. I earn my living. I earn enough for the karuja. And… if it’s true that the alchemist found a cure, I could save up for good, to go to school. And then I would go, I swear. Even my cronies would go too. To learn. And…”

I swallowed and fell silent. Yal said nothing; he was chewing his snack. After a long silence, he swallowed his last bite and commented:

“I see you landing at Carnation in a peace-and-virtue, sari. Well, I have to get back to my office. Kakzail works as a security guard at the Grand Gallery. He is on the day shift. You won’t have any trouble finding him, I suppose. Give him my regards.”

He stood up and shook the ash from his hat before adding:

“If I were you, I’d listen to the adults a little more. Kakzail, for example. And your parents. Maybe you hardly remember them, but think of them raising you for almost six years… They’re your parents. If anyone has a duty to help you out, it’s them. If anyone wants to do you any good, it’s them.”

At my surprised expression, he gave me a slight, embarrassed smile and gestured toward the Capitol entrance.

“I have to go, really. If you’re ever looking for me, I live right there in that house with the green shutters. See it?” He pointed to a building that stood at an angle to the Esplanade. “Second floor. Number three. But, if you come, come alone, okay? Don’t come with the whole gang, I know you.”

I nodded, my heart sinking.

“Natural, Elassar. Thank you.”

My master looked at me with an expression I could not quite make out. I only understood that he was not angry with me. To my surprise, he reached out a hand and ruffled my hair. A cascade of ashes fell.

“Take care of yourself, sari,” he told me gently.

I smiled and watched him walk briskly away to the entrance of the Capitol. When he disappeared, I turned to the sleeping Little Wolf, I held up an ashen finger to his cheek and drew three black dots on it, then the same on the other. I laughed softly and whispered in his ear:

“Cat gwak, beware, the Master will devour you!”

And, taking the doll, I pretended to devour the little one to wake him up.

31 The Labyrinth War

It was after half past three when I entered the Great Gallery, and there were already quite a few people there. I had come alone. I had left Little Wolf with my cronies, explaining that I didn’t know when I was coming home because I was going to volunteer to test the alchemist’s cure. That is if there was a cure, of course…

I moved forward, looking up at the faces, searching for a bearded Valean dressed as a fly. I looked for him for an infinite time, I went through the Gallery a dozen times… Nothing. Finally, I decided to ask a fly who was standing guard.

“Sir,” I said. Good mother, I couldn’t believe I was talking to a fly… I cleared my throat. “Sir, I’m looking for a fl… er… I mean, a bearded policeman. Kakzail Malaxalra. I was told he works here.”

The fly had his eyebrows furrowed. He glanced around, as if he expected to catch one of my accomplices picking the pockets of passers-by while he wasn’t looking… He coughed.

“And who are you?”

“His brother,” I said.

“Mmph.” He shrugged. “Kakzail, you say? He’s been drafted for a special operation. I don’t think he’ll be back tomorrow either.”

He continued his patrol, and I was left to brood over air and disappointment. Then I remembered something. Skelrog, the newly married brother, worked at Pa… at Passage School, he had said, hadn’t he? I breathed in and ran out of the Gallery. Half an hour later, I was in front of the school. Too late: the school was closed and silent.

Out of spite, I punched the big door. Then I stepped aside, hands in my pockets, and kicked a stone… And suddenly a ground floor window opened.

“Ashig?”

Skelrog’s incredulous voice made me turn around. I smiled broadly.

“Skelrog! Good to see you. I thought you’d already left. Since everything was so quiet… Blasthell,” I articulated. I had leapt closer and just saw children’s faces in the room through the window. “Are you still working?”

“There are a few minutes left,” my brother asserted. “Speak properly, will you? What exactly are you doing here? Quiet, everyone.”

Curiosity was too strong: instead of explaining the reason for my coming right away, I slipped through the window and landed inside with an expert jump.

“Ayo, everyone. Sorry to interrupt—”

“I hope you are,” Skelrog cut me off. “Don’t you know that civilized people come in through the doors? Anyway. Listen, sit here, next to Hishiwa, and we’ll talk after class, huh? Until then, not a word,” he warned me.

Obediently, I closed my mouth and gestured my agreement. Many in the class laughed quietly. My entrance seemed to have made quite an impression. I sat down next to Hishiwa, a human with brown hair, pale skin and blue eyes. He must have been about Samfen’s age. I stared at him in puzzlement. There was something about this guy that troubled me.

“Re-read it calmly,” Skelrog said.

The students read their sheets with great attention. Curious, I stretched my neck towards my companion’s paper.

“The ca…capturer?” I muttered, reading the first word.

Hishiwa laughed under his breath.

“Carpenter,” he whispered to me,

“Carpenter,” I repeated. “Well, of course. Your writing is kinda weird, you see. In newspapers, it’s much more regular. Because they do it with pre-made characters, you know. So everything looks always the same. What are you telling there?” I asked, gesturing to the text.

“I’m not telling anything,” Hishiwa replied, “It’s a dictation.”

A dictation, I repeated to myself mentally. I tilted my head, interested.

“And what is that?”

Hishiwa laughed louder, and suddenly, I understood why the appearance of that kid was bugging me, and I was left astonished.

“Ashig!” Skelrog protested as if I were the one making noise.

However, I could hardly hear him, for my discovery had struck me with such emotion that I raised my hands to heaven and cried out:

“Hey, I know you! You’re the one of the glass bird. The one with the glassmaker uncle. We travelled together in a cart to Estergat the spring before before. Good mother! You remember, don’t you…? Ouch,” I complained.

Skelrog had just given me a smack on the back of the neck. Hishiwa was looking at me with wide eyes. I smiled. He remembered! He only dared to nod, because my brother was glaring at us. I hastily put on an apologetic face, and despite the small laughter that could be heard in the room, I didn’t say a word for the rest of the class. I didn’t want a brother who looked so friendly to get angry with me. A bell suddenly rang and startled me. All the students got up, and after handing in their dictation, left the classroom, talking amongst themselves in a tumultuous way. Hishiwa glanced at me and the teacher curiously and then went out.

And, well, I was left alone with Skelrog.

My brother sat on his desk and waited for silence to return before saying:

“Your coming was quite a surprise, Ashig. And a good one,” he assured. “But… I’d rather you didn’t interrupt my classes again, huh?”

I nodded and stood up. It was the first time I had seen chairs attached to tables. What a strange invention! I walked over to the desk and pointed to the large square behind it against the wall. I remembered that a newspaper crier had explained to me that it was called a blackboard. It was not the first time I had seen one: at the police station there was one, and in some taverns they were used for writing menus. But the blackboards of the teachers were the biggest of all.

“Whoa. Can I try?” I asked.

Without waiting for his permission, I took a chalk and drew a line. I smiled broadly, drew another, and half-erased them with my hand. It was almost as much fun as painting on a wall.

“You said you could read,” Skelrog commented, amused. “Could you write your name?”

“Natural!” I assured him. And I wrote it down.

Skelrog cleared his throat with a grimace.

“Draen, I guess. Hmm. Well, the letters are a little… how shall I say, disjointed. Would you know how to spell ‘Ashig’?”

I scratched my head and said:

“Of course! I write even better than the Scribe of Parfalia. My cousin taught me. I’m an expert…”

“Well, write it down,” Skelrog invited me.

I coughed and beat my chest apologetically:

“Oh, sorry, it’s my chalk allergy!” I pretended to put it back on the desk, but actually put it in my pocket while adding, “Good mother! I’m in a hurry. The reason I came…” I coughed perfunctorily. “The reason I came, it’s because I’m looking for—”

“Teacher, teacher!” a voice suddenly called out. Hishiwa’s alarmed face appeared before the closed window. He shouted, “Teacher! Your brother had an accident at the workshop! A piece of glass got into his eye. Shabert says we have to take him to the hospital.”

“Spirits,” Skelrog gasped.

He rushed out of the room, and I followed him, trying to remember the name of that sixteen-year-old brother who worked at the glassworks next to the school… I could only find it, when once outside the workshop, Skelrog cried out:

“Skrindwar! By the Holy Patron Spirit, are you all right?”

Skrindwar’s face was sweating, and he was covering his eye with his hand.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Take him to the hospital,” a worker advised. “He’s got shards of glass right in his face. I hope he doesn’t lose his eye. Above all, don’t rub your eye, boy.”

Skelrog took Skrindwar by the arm and said:

“Hishiwa, please, can you help me? Go warn Mr. Malaxalra, at his shop.”

“Right away, professor!” the boy replied.

“Ashig. Go with him, will you?” Skelrog added.

I nodded in shock, and as my two brothers sped away, Hishiwa took me by the sleeve, and we both set off at a run up the slope towards Tarmil Avenue.

“Don’t worry,” Hishiwa threw in when we were already near Sunset Street. “I don’t think it’s too bad. He wasn’t bleeding. My uncle, when it happened to him, he was bleeding all over.”

I swallowed.

“Did he pop off?”

“What?”

“I mean, did he die from it?”

“My uncle? No way. He became one-eyed. But he still works like ten men. Say, I can’t believe you’re the same wild kid who came to the village. Ah, I still remember your ‘thank you, Mama!’,” he laughed. “You used to repeat everything you heard.”

“You remember,” I said, glad.

“Pff, of course I remember,” Hishiwa affirmed, “I’ll never forget that trip. You didn’t even know what a hat was! I lost track of you after that. My uncle and I looked for you for a long time that night. You found your family, I guess.”

We reached Tarmil Square and stopped running. I gave him a comical pout.

“More than one family,” I assured him. And I pointed to the barber shop with my chin. “Do you mind going alone to tell what happened? Barbershops are just not my thing…”

Hishiwa looked surprised, but he shrugged and ran the last few steps. I saw him go into the room, and I leaned against the building at the corner overlooking the avenue, took out a leaf of smograss, and began to chew on it. If I had ever thought of being a glassmaker, that day the story made me forget it. I hoped that Skrindwar’s condition wasn’t anything too serious.

I was watching the comings and goings of the people on the avenue when three figures with school bags turned the corner. Two of them, Sarova and Mili, dashed towards the door of the barber’s shop without even glancing at me, while the third stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. I smiled.

“Hey, bro, how you doing?”

Samfen approached, hesitant, still bewildered.

“Ashig,” he gasped. “What are you doing…? I mean, what are you…?” He opened his eyes wide, then looked beyond. “Hishiwa?”

I turned to see Hishiwa trotting out of the barber shop. He smiled broadly.

“Sam, mate!”

Surprised, I saw them shake hands as the glass apprentice explained to Samfen what had happened. They obviously knew each other. I learned that they had both gone to the same school when Hishiwa changed the subject and asked him how his exams had gone.

“Super hard,” Samfen admitted. “Elms School is not like Passage School, that’s for sure. If it wasn’t for my mom… I’d rather stay doing haircuts and shaving beards all day. When she sees my grades, she’s going to skin me alive,” he assured with a fatalistic little smile. And, glancing at me, he added, “Oh, by the way. This is Ashig. My eleven-year-old brother. I’ve told you about him before. He…”

He fell silent when Hishiwa laughed uproariously and explained that we already knew each other. The boy told him about our first meeting in detail, talking about the onion I had mistaken for a fruit, Mama, my rabbit skins, old Dirasho’s hat… I laughed with him. It was so obvious that Hishiwa was not laughing at me with ill intent that it was impossible to take it the wrong way.

In the end, I decided that it wasn’t worth it to keep looking for Kakzail that day. It was getting dark, and I hadn’t eaten anything. It was better to go home. I was sure my comrades would share something with me, even if it was little. We were comrades after all!

I was thinking about all this, no longer listening to Hishiwa and Samfen, when a shout startled me.

“Sharpy!”

I turned my head and saw Syrdio running up the Avenue. The gwak was only a few feet away when he called out to me:

“We’re in trouble, it’s urgent! Give me a hand.”

Syrdio wasn’t my favorite of the bunch, that’s for sure, but the urgency in his voice erased all my hesitation, made me forget about Samfen and Hishiwa, and I rushed behind my partner, up the street.

“What’s going on?”

“A mess of a thousand demons!” Syrdio explained. “The flies are entering the Labyrinth like brutes. That’s why there was an urgent meeting between the bands this afternoon. Anyway, in short, Swift quarrelled with the Braggart, and that fool says that he and his gang are going to blow up our house at eight o’clock and lynch Swift. We’ve got to get reinforcements.”

We looked for them. We gathered a good number of our companions on the Esplanade, including Manras and Dil, and led them back downhill. We ran as fast as the traffic would allow. I carried Little Wolf on my shoulders and arrived at the ruined house behind my cronies when the sky, still covered with ashes, was already almost dark. It was past six o’clock. As soon as I put Little Wolf on the ground, Diver put a dagger in my hands.

“Hide it.”

I promptly hid it under my sleeve and returned to the doorway of the house. We were all tense and silent. There was hardly a whisper. We did not even light a fire. We waited in almost complete darkness. Being sokwata had its advantages: as sokwatas, we could see better than anyone else at night. And there were seven of us in the band. No, eight, I corrected myself, smiling, when, at about seven o’clock, I saw Rogan appear with his “new” hat. It was I who had given it to him. Although I hadn’t bought it.

“There’s something going on here,” he guessed as he joined me near the entrance.

I explained:

“It’s the Braggart… I don’t know if you know him. He’s a dealer who sells in the Black Quarter. He’s one of those guys who’ll take out the chive because you tell them ayo, and he’ll bleed you dry without asking any questions. Now, you see who he is, right? Well, he wants to lynch Swift at eight o’clock.”

Rogan huffed.

“Blasthell. And why is that?”

It was Swift himself who answered:

“Because I refused to pay him tribute. This guy thinks he’s very clever. He says that, because we’re starting to be a real gang, we’re starting to be dangerous, and so he wants us to pay a living wage, because we’re bothering him. Bah. What really bothers him is that a few of the gang are selling for Frashluc and not for him.”

I grimaced. For the last two weeks, I’d been helping out Diver, for that second favor thing and… because selling dandepassion from customer to customer was more profitable and less stressful than diving around the Esplanade. Since then, we ate warm meals in taverns, we had dinner, and we even had lunch. And Little Wolf had gotten healthily colored, chubby cheeks thanks to living like a king. Wasn’t that wonderful? It was! And that damned Braggart wanted to take away our joy? Of course I wasn’t going to let him!

Swift sent out six lookouts. One on the left side of the street, towards Moon Square, two towards the Labyrinth, and three towards the Timid River, for, as far as we knew, the Braggart, who was a former Cat, had gone to live in the Black Quarter, on the other side of the river. As the saying goes: A renegade Cat is a rogue Cat.

A moment after our lookouts had moved away, we heard a:

“You! Stop right there!”

It was Lin’s voice. We turned our heads to the left and rushed towards the two figures who had just come running out of the corner of our house… We circled them, and I cast a light spell as one of our prey cried out:

“Please don’t hurt us! We’re leaving. We… we just wanted to… B-by my ancestors!” Hishiwa stammered.

“Good mother,” I said, stunned. I undid the light spell. “What are you two doing here?” And, as I could still feel tension on both sides—my comrades were holding their knives to Samfen and Hishiwa and the two boys were shaking like leaves—I added, “False alarm, comrades. These guys have nothing to do with Braggart. Really, Swift…” I protested, as he stepped into the circle.

Swift ignored me.

“What were you doing spying on our house?”

Hishiwa swallowed, and Samfen gasped:

“Nothing! We… we just wanted to know where my brother was going. We’re not spies, we hid and—”

“Your brother?” Swift interrupted.

“Ashig,” Samfen stammered.

“That’s me,” I interjected calmly. “Let them go, Swift—”

“You shut up, shyur,” the kap replied.

I shut up, and there was silence. Then Swift decided:

“Get them into the house. When this whole mess is over, they can leave. Not before.”

At first, I was upset, but as I thought about it, I said to myself that at least, if Braggart killed us all, maybe they would get out of there alive and take Little Wolf with them… Bah. I shook my head. To hell with the bad thoughts. Braggart wasn’t going to make a single scratch: he was going to run away as soon as he saw us armed!

We brought my brother and the glassmaker’s apprentice into our home, into the shelter, near Little Wolf and the younger ones. I was about to approach my brother to tell him not to worry, that nothing was going to happen to him, but Swift grabbed me by the sleeve.

“You’ll talk to them afterwards: for now, go and watch outside,” he ordered.

I went without saying a word. I left the house and walked down Sheer Cliff Street. I could see movement behind some of the open shutters. Obviously, the neighbors were as worried as we were. One of these days, they were going to take to the streets to evict us.

I walked along the low wall overlooking the precipice. Below me was Kamir Wood and the Hippodrome. And how beautiful it was in the morning, when the sun shone on the tree tops and the birds sang! At this hour, one could hardly make out the branches in the darkness.

I took out the chalk from Passage School and played around drawing circles on the stone. The breeze had picked up and the ash was swirling silently. I took out a purple and black checked scarf that I had found in the street one day, blown away by the wind. I tied it up and covered my face to protect myself. I blinked and sighed. Sokwata, my foot. With the shadows and the ash, I wouldn’t have seen a dragon. If the Braggart and his band were really coming to slaughter us, we’d be stabbing each other and killing each other blindly.

I was dragging my feet, now drawing Daglat stars on the nearby doors with my chalk, when I heard a distant whistle. Someone relayed it. I lowered my scarf for a moment and gave the alarm with another whistle. Soon afterwards, I heard footsteps running towards me, and I thought I recognized Ragok, who was returning from the Timid River with two other companions. They passed me by without seeing me, and I joined them at the ruined house.

“There are at least twenty coming!” Ragok informed.

What, twenty! Only twenty? There were thirty-five of us! Well, eleven didn’t really belong to the band: they had come in solidarity. But they were allies, and that always made a bigger impression. The only problem was that most of the people from Braggart were fourteen years old or older. And, on our side, I was counting Little Mouse who was only five and Possu who was only six…

“Bah, we can beat them!” I asserted energetically. “Courage and bravery!”

I pretended to walk like a conqueror towards the battle, and Swift cut me off with his stick.

“Put some water in your wine, Sharpy. Before you bite them, you bark,” he explained.

I calmed down. We all calmed down. A few minutes later, we saw Braggart’s gang appear. There were more than twenty of them. All were masked. They stopped about ten yards from us, and finally a mocking voice among them broke the silence.

“Good evening, Swift. Did you change your mind about what I offered?”

“I ain’t workin’ for you,” our kap said. “Get the hell off my street.”

There was a silence. And then a:

“A shame. Have a nice trip to hell.”

In spite of the darkness, my eyes suddenly saw a round object in Braggart’s hands. It shot towards Swift. I didn’t know what it was; I just knew it was bad. I reacted with the speed of a squirrel. I reached out with my right hand and caught the ball in flight. It was charged with energy. Blasthell. It was a magara! Where could the Braggart have gotten such a magara from? Without a doubt, it should have exploded. If it didn’t… it must have been because of the mortic energy in my hand. Unless it was about to explode… When in doubt, as soon as I held it in my palm, I threw it over the cliff. A few seconds later, an explosion was heard. I turned deathly pale. The Braggart gave an incredulous grunt.

“How the blasthell…?”

His question was overwhelmed by our wild cries. We rushed at our enemies, dagger in hand, overcome by fear. Unconsciously, we did not really intend to kill, but we did intend to hurt. I punched one, slashed the arm of another and bit his wrist… Within seconds, it was total chaos. I received a terrible kick that threw me to the ground, I rolled to avoid being trampled, backed up to where my younger companions had remained, mouth agape, to watch the disaster… and I also remained mouth agape when I saw that several adults were now fighting on our side. Well, rather, they were trying to stop the bloodshed. It was not they who succeeded, though, but the shrill sounds of whistles that suddenly pierced the night.

“The flies!” Manras shouted.

I jumped up and rushed into the house. I grabbed the blanket, grabbed Little Wolf, and dashed out to find a surprisingly different scene than before: people were running around in a general stampede… I stopped dead in my tracks and turned my head back to the shelter. Where the hell were Samfen and Hishiwa? I turned back, my heart pounding.

“Samfen! Hishiwa!” I cried. “Where are you?” I looked around and around and whispered, “Good mother, they are gone.”

Who knows, maybe they were the ones who had called the flies… The thought horrified me, and I preferred to accept the hypothesis of the screams and the explosion. I ran out of the house. The street was already almost deserted, except for the lights of the lanterns which were approaching on both sides at a brisk pace, accompanied by the barking of dogs. I rushed to the nearest staircase that led to the Labyrinth, and one of the adults—Frashluc’s men, probably—turned around when he saw me and freed me from the weight of Little Wolf.

“Come on, run, kid!”

We ran, into the Labyrinth, pursued by the police. I didn’t know if we were leaving any dead behind. I didn’t care at that moment: the only thing that mattered was to run. To run and hide in a safe place.

We had no trouble losing those who pursued us. We were the kings of the Cats: we knew the secret passages. The problem was that the flies had also entered the Labyrinth. I spat on the ground as I ran. Vandals! Intruders! I kept glancing at every alley, at every crossroads, imagining that, suddenly, the flies were falling on us with a pack of dogs… I was tempted to climb on a roof, to huddle there and wait for the night to pass. But, as my strong companion was carrying Little Wolf, I had no other solution than to follow him.

He led me to the deepest part of the Labyrinth, to a covered courtyard, full of people. And what joy I felt when I saw that my companions were there too. Were these guys just friends of Swift’s? No. They were people from Frashluc, for sure. And they had come to get us out of trouble because… because we worked for them, perhaps?

I recovered Little Wolf at the same time as my breath, and removing the scarf in front of my face, I went to sit down with my cronies. The ancestors be praised, they were not hurt. As for me, I had scraped all my elbow, but other than that, I was fine. However, some of our comrades were bleeding. Diver had a cut on his shoulder. Lin’s face was covered in blood, but he said he was fine. And, well, some were sitting up, some were lying down, and none other than old Fieronilles from The Drawer was busy with bandages, tending to the injured. I smiled and walked over to him.

“Grandpa, let me know if there is anything I can help with,” I offered.

The old man squinted, recognized me, and huffed.

“Of course you can help, bard. Here, bring me the buckets.”

I brought them to him, and my cronies joined in. We did everything he asked us to do. It was tiring, but we felt like apprentice healers saving lives, and that was wonderful. Finally, when old Fieronilles had bandaged the last wounded gwak, I quietly asked:

“Is there any way you can swallow anything around here?”

The old man arched a mocking eyebrow, lifted his lantern, and patted me on the shoulder.

“I’ll get you something to eat. You’ve earned it.”

“Sure he has,” another voice interjected. Out of a doorway, Swift appeared. He stepped aside to let Fieronilles pass and approached me. He stopped and smiled at me, embarrassed. “You saved my life, namesake. Don’t know how you did it, but… thanks. It was amazing. You could have told me you were a real magician.”

I smiled broadly.

“It was a lucky break,” I confessed. “Besides, I saved my own life too. That thing exploded like beastly.”

“I see. Then it was a selfish act,” the redheaded elf scoffed.

“Quite so, namesake,” I said, showing all my teeth. And I looked him up and down. “You’re not hurt?”

“In the heart,” Swift replied. “I was just about to stab the Braggart when, all of a sudden, this guy… fell on me.”

He gestured with his chin to a man who had just come out into the covered courtyard. I recognized him and jumped for joy.

“Bo…! Sir! Good mother!” I exclaimed.

It was Le Bor. The ruffian cleared his throat, shoved his hands into his pockets, and sighed:

“Always in the middle of the action, Four-Hundred.”

I laughed, and in the face of Swift’s curious look, I whispered in his ear, by way of explanation:

“He and I are partners.”

I said this with obvious pride.

32 Got a home and a job

Encouraged by a chorus of voices, I straightened up, stood on the big table, filled my lungs with air and bellowed:

AHOY, AHOY, AHOY!
Cats’ girls.
They’re so pretty! So pretty!
La-la-la, la-la-la. They’re so pretty!
Cats’ girls.
What could be more divine
if not wine?
Yeeeeeh!

I let out a howl that took over the whole room and continued to sing, accompanied by laughter, thunderous voices, and the bark of a dog chasing a cat between the tables.

We were in the Great Refectory, an underground hall, in the middle of the kingdom of Frashluc. The place was crowded with people, all of them fellow sufferers, who, since the invasion of the flies in the Cat Quarter, spent the day fending off intruders or running away from them as best they could. Thanks to my reputation at The Drawer, in only three days I had become the professional troubadour of all this motley crew. They all agreed that I didn’t sing well, but that I bawled well, which seemed to be the same thing because they listened and laughed just as much.

My new company did not really satisfy me. Some of them were friendly and taught you tactics on how to hold a dagger, and one of them even taught me an insult in Owram so that I would become more knowledgeable, but others were abusive—with great naturalness, I must admit—and, as if doing you a favour, sent you to clean the floor and wash the dishes, to shine the shoes and change the candles, and all this with the tacit consent of the others, who joked, lazed about, and watched you pass by like one watches just another hairy cat. All in all, during those three days, I wished more than once that Braggart had broken my leg so I wouldn’t have to work so hard. But, well, I was in good shape and I endured my martyrdom like a man.

It bothered me more to remember that Farigo, the little spinner of Carnation, had been released that same Kindday and that I had not been able to go and wait for him outside the prison as I had promised myself. Yet another gwak lost. As the Priest said, gwaks lost their way, found it, lost it again, and who knows what their fate really was.

I finished the song with an interminable shriek of voice which drew laughter. As soon as I was silent, I jumped down from the table and accepted the chicken leg which was handed to me by a dark-haired caitian, a man named Fishka, who was as paunchy as a nail-pincher. And so I wandered between the tables, accepting donations here and there and answering puns as the focus shifted. When I reached the back of the living room, I leaned close to Manras and Dil and distributed the food.

“Dig in, shyurs. Are you hungry, Little Wolf? Well, here, here you go. What’s the matter? Don’t you like boiled carrots? Oh, is it the peas? No? No way. You doing the nail-pincher now? Don’t be a nail-pincher or I’ll wring your ears off, and not just a little, eh? Demorjed. You’ll eat every last carrot, I’m telling you. Come on! Don’t be picky, I almost lost my voice to get it. Hurry up and dig in, or it’ll get cold.”

Little Wolf looked disgusted, but as I held out the bowl to encourage him, he began to obey and chew. My cronies, Little Wolf, and I were still eating in the midst of the tumult of the living room, when Rogan appeared through a doorway, and with my mouth full, I exclaimed:

“Priest, comrade! I invite you.”

My friend sat down and put his hat on the floor with a theatrical gesture.

“Well, since you’re offering it to me like that, I can’t refuse.” He grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite before adding, “Your partner is waiting for you outside. He asked me to tell you: hurry up, Four-Hundred.”

I opened my eyes wide. Damn. Le Bor had completely ignored me for the past three days. He had just told me that the meeting at Fal Bridge had been cancelled, that he was very busy and that I shouldn’t bother him. Well, how could he expect me to bother him if he wasn’t even there?

I smiled and stood up.

“Well, I’m going… Hey, Little Wolf, I saw you, swallow this carrot! Pick it up. Right now.”

The little one shook his head. Manras and Dil burst out laughing. They loved it when Little Wolf made fun of me. Bah… I huffed and held out a threatening index finger at Little Wolf.

“You’re gonna regret it…”

“Sharpy,” Rogan scoffed. “He said, hurry up, Four-Hundred.”

I sighed and lost interest in Little Wolf.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go. Ayo.”

As I passed, I picked up the hat from the floor, put it on my head, Rogan took it off me, and laughing, I ran off towards the tunnel that led outside while the Priest muttered, amused:

“That clown’s a lost cause.”

I slipped through the door, trotted over to the part of the house that wasn’t buried in the rock. I finally came out into an alley. The sky was still overcast, but the cold had returned, the ash was already less dense, and the sun’s rays were seeping in to illuminate the town with a strange golden light.

I walked to the end of the alley. I spun round, met the mocking gaze of a Cat standing on a threshold, and then heard behind me a deep, deep cry:

“Boo.”

I rolled my eyes and turned around with lightning speed, crying out sharply:

“Boo, your mother!”

I laughed as I saw Le Bor jump. I heard him grumble something before he grabbed me by the neck without regard and pushed me towards the other street.

“One more remark about my mother and I’ll kick your ass. Let’s go. Someone wants to see you.”

This intrigued me.

“Who wants to see me?”

Le Bor gave me a smack on the back of the neck.

“Someone.”

“No kidding!” I teased. Another smack. “Ouch. All right, I’ll shut up.” Two seconds later, I asked, “Where have you been?”

Le Bor gave me an owlish look as we sped down the street.

“Are you my mother or something, Four-Hundred?”

“Uh… Um… No,” I admitted. “But you said you’d come to see me. You promised. And you didn’t come.”

“I came today, what more do you want? That I adopt you?” the ruffian scoffed.

I made a thoughtful pout.

“Hey, well, that wouldn’t be a bad idea… Ouch,” I complained, bringing my hand to my head. “Why are you hitting me?”

“Because you’re getting on my nerves,” Le Bor replied. “Hurry up.”

I sighed, and we continued on our way in silence. At one point, we avoided a street that was being searched by the police and finally exited the Labyrinth. We were not far from The Joyful Spirit when I inquired:

“What exactly are the flies looking for?”

I’d already asked more than one person, but not Le Bor. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Evidence.”

“Against Frashluc?”

“That’s one thing,” Le Bor confirmed. “They mainly want to expose scandals, discredit the district. You haven’t read the papers, have you? Well, whether you understand it or not, Parliament intends to ratify a decree that will allow them to destroy more than half of the Labyrinth, they’ll send the homeless inhabitants to Menshaldra, and they’ll make Menshaldra an official district of Estergat. I see you’re catching on,” he observed with a smirk at my horrified expression.

“Destroy half the Labyrinth?” I cried. “But… nobody told me that. Why would they destroy half of the Labyrinth? There are a lot of people living there…”

Le Bor turned a corner and nodded.

“Precisely: they live crowded. The present Parliament is full of progressives. They want to make great changes, to give every soul a dignified life… That’s why, in practice, they want to leave half the Labyrinth roofless. Progress is such a great thing, kid. One good thing is that, now that word is spreading, Frashluc is getting support from all sides. If they really want to bring in their destructive machines using force, there’s going to be a war, Four-Hundred.”

I bit my cheek, thoughtful and worried. So thoughtful and worried that I found myself several steps behind, and realizing this, I hurried to catch up with Le Bor, who was already climbing the stairs.

“This is horrible,” I muttered. “This story about the dead-agree…”

“The decree,” Le Bor corrected.

“That.” I hesitated and swallowed. “A master I had said that wars were sajit slugboneries.”

Le Bor smiled.

“Wise words. But, when it comes to defending your home, the perspective changes, don’t you think?”

I pondered, and as Le Bor brought his scarf up to his nose, I imitated him and followed him like a shadow.

We were reaching Grey Square when I broke the silence again:

“Sir.”

“What?”

I smiled and shrugged.

“Nothing. You’re just very quiet, that’s all.”

“Mmph. And what do you want me to talk about? The weather?” Le Bor replied. I didn’t answer, and after a pause, he gave me a curious look, slowed his pace, and inquired: “How is Little Wolf?”

I straightened up.

“Well, fine… Can you believe he doesn’t like carrots? He’s a demorjed,” I said.

Le Bor huffed, as if laughing, and stopped in front of a building.

“The Yellow Dragon,” he declared. And, at my questioning look, he added, “Have you been in there yet?” I shook my head. “Well, today you’re going in.” He examined me with an appraising eye and frowned. “Aren’t you cold with your bare feet?”

I arched my eyebrows, looked down at my feet as if I were seeing them for the first time, and made a puzzled pout.

“Well, no, not much. My ears are colder.”

A mocking glint passed into Le Bor’s eyes.

“Well, now, you better shut up and do everything I tell you, or I’ll heat those ears up for you, believe me. Come on in.”

He pushed open the door, and I went inside. The place was full of people eating, chatting loudly and lazing around. I had always thought that The Yellow Dragon was an inn and not a tavern. Apparently, it was both. And the atmosphere seemed just as nice as that of The Wind Rose.

Our entrance drew very few blatant glances and mostly knowing glances as if… as if they already knew Le Bor; or at least that’s the impression I got. Once in front of the counter, my tall companion said:

“A glass of radrasia, my dear.”

He didn’t invite me. Well, rather than being treated to a glass of celestial radrasia as a joke, it was better not be invited at all. That would have certainly made my ears hot. I heard Le Bor ask the time. It was half past two. As he raised the glass to his lips, I leaned against the large counter as a backrest and watched the regulars. More than one face was familiar, but one was even more so, and when I realized why, my heart sank with panic. Fortunately I had not taken off the scarf, otherwise… I grabbed Le Bor by the sleeve and murmured:

“Hey, sir. Sir! I saw a fly. The dark elf, there. He’s a fly. Last week, he took fifteen nails and gave me a good thrashing. I’d recognize him anywhere. Do you hear me?” I insisted, seeing that Le Bor was not looking at me.

“Will you shut up?” he replied through his teeth. “Do as I say.”

He made a discreet gesture. I frowned. Suddenly, a customer at the other end of the tavern slammed the table and thundered:

“You liar!”

“Liar, your mother!” his partner snarled indignantly.

“Leave my mother in peace, isturbag!”

They stood up, the argument began, and Le Bor put the empty glass on the counter.

“Come with me,” he urged me.

I didn’t understand the trick until we disappeared through a back door of the tavern: the fly’s attention had inevitably focused on the commotion, and he certainly wouldn’t remember anything but the altercation. I laughed softly as we walked up the stairs.

“So those two were your friends!”

“Not exactly,” Le Bor replied.

I was disconcerted by his answer, and when we reached the upstairs corridor, a strange fear began to come over me. I continued to put one foot in front of the other, but with increasing anxiety. Finally, when Le Bor came to some big guys guarding a door and showed them some object, a shiver of fear went through me.

“Four-Hundred,” Le Bor impatiently asked.

He came back to grab my arm, and I, with my eyes fixed on the barbed guards, said in a whisper:

“You’re taking me to Frashluc, right? But I didn’t talk to Lowen. I didn’t do anything wrong. You have to believe me!” I exclaimed as Le Bor pushed me forward. “Don’t make me go in there. I don’t want to go in there!”

I resisted. Eventually, Le Bor got fed up. He grabbed me by both wrists, slammed me against the wall of the hallway, and snarled in my face:

“What the hell is wrong with you, Four-Hundred?”

“I don’t want to die!” I replied.

Le Bor blinked in surprise. He pulled the scarf down over my face, released my wrists, and sighed.

“Frashluc is not going to kill you if you do what he asks. Is that clear?”

I shook my head and tried to escape. Le Bor caught me, slapped me, and glared at me.

“I’m the one who’s going to get pissed off and kill you if you don’t do what I tell you. Is that clear this time?”

I looked him in the eye and deep down I understood that Le Bor was just saying that so that I would listen to him, because for some reason, it was very important to him. I nodded. Le Bor frowned.

“Will you do what I say?”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

Le Bor stared at me and concluded:

“So you’re going to do what Frashluc tells you or I’ll wring your neck with my own hands. Don’t forget that, kid. Keep quiet unless they ask you a question.” I nodded, and he gave a dark pout. “Good boy. Let’s go.”

He let go of me, and I followed him to those two big guys who were watching us intently. They searched us. They took away my knife, but they left me with the smograss and the nuts. Finally, one of the hefty guys opened the door, took a lantern, and asked us to wait a moment. We waited. When he returned, a good while had passed. He said:

“Come in.”

He led us through a dark, rocky tunnel. We were going into the Rock itself. Like the Great Refectory of the Labyrinth, but deeper. Hadn’t Yabir said that the Rock was full of secret passages? Well, obviously, this was one of them. And, presumably, it belonged to the Frashluc Guild.

As the big guy continued to move forward, I glanced at Le Bor several times. Would he be able to do it or not? I kept on asking myself that. Would he be able to lead me to my death? I trusted him… I could not have been mistaken. Le Bor liked me, I knew it. We’d shared the same cell for almost two moons. We weren’t comrades because he was… well, he was Le Bor, but to me, he was… like the father I never had. And a good father didn’t send his children to their death, did he?

We passed two crossings, passed through two doors, and finally came to a large room. For a moment, the wonderment made me completely forget my situation. This place looked like a very ancient temple. The room was lined with huge, elaborate columns, steps encircled the centre, and at the back stood an altar and a large empty chair.

“The meeting has just ended,” the lantern-wielding hefty guide informed. “Frashluc will be here in a few moments.”

And having said that, he turned and went back through the same tunnel from which he had come. As Le Bor came forward and walked about the room with an air of admiration for a place he had seen more than once before, I wondered if he had really told me the truth when he said that he was not working for Frashluc, that he was working only for himself. For himself, my foot.

Too intimidated by the grandeur of the place, I sat down against a column and counted Le Bor’s footsteps, which sounded like lashes in the cave. One, two… ten… sixty… two hundred and three… Fun fact: it was precisely at this number, the number of Le Bor at Carnation, that Frashluc appeared through the same tunnel, protected by three bodyguards—among them the Albino—and… accompanied by Korther and Aberyl.

When I saw the Black Dagger kap appear, the blood rushed to my head, I jumped to my feet… then my reason told me that to run would have been a stupidity, and I stayed still without knowing what to do.

The sound of boots echoed through the temple. Frashluc stopped just before he came down the steps. His paunch was even more remarkable when he was standing, I observed. And his eyes even more deadly.

“Good morning, Mr. Asaveo,” he greeted. “Thank you for bringing the boy. Come closer,” he said.

His voice was dry, authoritative. I did not trust him. I approached him anyway, keeping my head low and praying inwardly to all my ancestors. It was the only thing I could do. Frashluc turned to Korther.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Korther looking at me with a not very expressive face. He nodded. Me, with my hands in my pockets, I clutched my nuts as if I wanted to burst them. Frashluc cleared his throat.

“Right. And… do you really think he’s capable of entering the Palace?”

“In theory, yes. In practice, I don’t know,” Korther admitted. “He’s a sokwata. And that will make it harder for him to be detected by the Solance. If I prepare him well, he may succeed.”

“And if he doesn’t succeed, the loss won’t be tragic for anyone, will it?” Frashluc scoffed.

Korther pouted. Frashluc smiled, amused. And they both looked at me. I remained as silent as a tree. The great kap of the Cats broke the silence again.

“As I was telling you, Korther, I have been experimenting with one of the Black Hawk’s sokwatas. The energy barrier that protects them is very thin. Any offensive spell that is even slightly powerful will disintegrate it. The Solance’s perceptive spells may not work as well with them, but offensive traps affect them just as much. How do you think you’re going to get this boy through? Is he that well trained?”

Korther rolled his eyes.

“He’s not. I’m not going to lie to you: this kid has barely been trained. But, as incredible as it may seem, he’s the only one likely to succeed in stealing the Solance.”

Here Le Bor snorted loudly. I did not know that he was right behind me, and I jumped—I was tense as a squirrel surrounded by wolves. Le Bor repeated with a gasp:

“Steal the Solance? You want… the boy to steal the Solance? But… isn’t that the Palace relic? I mean… the Jewel of Estergat, the… Mmph. Excuse me for interrupting but… does this have anything to do with the demolition decree or… does it have nothing to do with it?”

Frashluc shook his head.

“It has to do with that. Obviously, entering the most protected area in all of the Rock and stealing the most powerful perceptive relic in all of Prospaterra has to do with our intimidation strategy, and a lot. Let the Parliament send the entire security force into the Cat Quarter… whatever. Before they know it, we will have raided the Palace vaults. But, in order to do that, first, we must disable the Solance.” The old man’s eyes glowed with excitement, he placed a hand on his paunch and gave me a small smile without really looking at me as he resumed, “They say this relic is a simple piece of metal. A trinket with enormous ancestral power that protects the Palace from intruders… In reality, as Korther explained to me well, all the traps in the place are linked to the Solance and that’s why, in practice, it’s impossible to enter without an alarm going off… But not so impossible,” he smiled, looking at Le Bor. “That’s why I decided to hire the boy. As you know, he’s a sokwata. And he has received some training from the Black Daggers as well. Two good reasons to choose him as the best candidate to carry out the task, and Korther agrees with me on that. Of course, the brotherhood will receive a generous share of the loot, the boy as well, and… you, Mr. Asaveo, I entrust you with the task of acting as the boy’s guardian to ensure that no harm comes to him in the meantime and that he goes to his lessons with his… mentor?” He gave Korther a questioning look, and as Korther shrugged, he did the same and added for Le Bor, “You can refuse, of course. But I don’t recommend it. If you accept, the eight hundred and forty siatos the boy earns will be entirely at your disposal.”

There was a silence, and I guessed that Le Bor was nodding in silent assent. Frashluc looked satisfied and turned to me.

“You got that, kid?”

I nodded. Blasthell, yes, I understood. And, at the same time, I was horribly confused.

“Well, then explain,” Frashluc insisted.

I swallowed and stammered:

“I-I have to… I have to steal a relic.”

“In the Palace,” Aberyl helped me.

“In the Palace,” I repeated. “Bestial clear. Really.”

Frashluc gave me a skeptical look. Korther, on the other hand, seemed to have decided to look at me as little as possible. However, it was he who set me straight by saying:

“In short, lad: Frashluc hires you to go steal a relic, you deactivate it, you open the way, and we, the real thieves, go into the Palace to rob the vaults. Is it ‘bestial clear’ now?”

“Yes, sir,” I said quickly.

To be perfectly honest, although I understood it, I still hadn’t fully assimilated it, because I had other things on my mind. I couldn’t believe that Korther was going to give me lessons to help me steal this Solance. I was already imagining that I would be alone with him, that he would turn into a demon, start growling like Rolg, and pop me off with his teeth…

“I’ll see you tomorrow at ten o’clock at the Hostel,” Korther concluded. “Don’t be late.”

He didn’t even look at me when he came out of there with Aberyl. He probably hated me to death. After all, I had entered his office to rob him… So why had he agreed to give me lessons? For the loot? I had better not fail this time…

“Well,” Frashluc said when the footsteps of the two Black Daggers had died down. “Just a last detail, kid. As soon as you get out with the Solance, you give it to the Albino. If he comes back without it, if you give it to anyone else, I’ll kill your ‘comrades’.” I stared at him for a second, horrified, and looked down again, clenching my fists full of hazelnuts. Yeah, I had better not fail this time, I told myself fervently. Frashluc added, “The same goes for you, Bor. You better not lose the boy, or you’re dead.”

“Don’t worry about that, sir,” Le Bor replied.

He took me by the arm and pulled. With a frozen heart, I followed him into the tunnel. That Frashluc popped me off, well, I could understand that, but why my comrades? I was petrified with horror.

I retrieved my knife from the door, and we exited The Yellow Dragon. We walked through the Grey Square towards the Labyrinth. Le Bor looked as if in a funeral. The ash kept falling. The area was surprisingly quiet. People didn’t dare to go out anymore because of the tense atmosphere. We had already left the place behind when, in my frustration, I couldn’t stand it any longer and broke the silence.

“Sir! Are you mad?”

We were in a deserted alley. He stopped dead in his tracks, and when he looked at me with a frown, I said:

“I did everything I was told to do. Just like you told me to.”

I saw him calm down, and I added:

“Besides, you said we had to defend our home. This job… it’s to defend it, right? Because of the degree.”

Le Bor sighed, looked around and shook his head.

“I’m not mad at you, what an idea. You did everything right. It’s just that… my lady and I were thinking of leaving the Rock soon. And Frashluc just blew our plan. Taka’s gonna wring my neck.”

I looked at him in amazement. Le Bor turned his eyes to the sky, then down, and frowned.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Four-Hundred?”

I shrugged.

“It’s because you promised Coldpalm to help Little Wolf. And to help me. Do you remember?”

Le Bor grimaced.

“Yes, yes. Of course I remember. I thought I’d leave you some money. Anyway, we thought we’d come back. It was… uh… only temporary.”

I don’t know if I quite believed him, but I made an understanding pout.

“It’s because of what’s going on right now in the neighborhood, right?”

“Um… well, partly, yes. Bah,” he exasperated. “Mind your own business, Four-Hundred. Anyway, for now I’m going to stay with you.”

I opened my eyes wide.

“You’ll stay… with me? In the Great Refectory of—?”

“No. In another house. You will come with Little Wolf. And my lady will take care of him while you get ready for this crazy—”

“I’m going to live with you!” I exclaimed in disbelief. And a thought came to spoil my enthusiasm. I refused: “I can’t.”

Le Bor glared at me.

“Of course you can.”

“I can,” I admitted. “But my cronies… I don’t know if you know them. And the Priest. They’re mates of mine, they’re like brothers,” I asserted, thumping my chest, and as I saw Le Bor grow darker, I added, “I need to see them. And I’m going to need them like hell to steal that Sol—”

Le Bor suddenly covered my mouth.

“Idiot.” He muttered something through his teeth and sighed, “Bah. They can just come. Anyway, the house is big, and Taka will probably be thrilled. She loves kids. Maybe, this way, she’ll swallow the idea of staying better, hopefully…”

He rubbed his eyes as I jumped up and down and thanked him.

“Silence,” he thundered.

I fell silent. He gave a tired pout and started walking again. I followed him. This time he broke the silence.

“Tell me, honestly, Four-Hundred. Do you think you’re capable of doing something like that? The Palace thing,” he clarified in a whisper as I looked at him uncomprehendingly.

Oh. A sudden thought made me smile in disbelief.

“Are you worried?”

“Eh? You wish. I’m just asking if you think you can do it,” Le Bor replied dryly.

I smiled with all my teeth and nodded.

“Well, natural. Guess what, I’ve already nabbed things at the Conservatory. And at the Stock Exchange. So the Pal…” I received a slap on the head and finished: “It’ll be as simple as ayo.”

“Mmph. Well, Korther better get you well prepared because I can already see you going back to Carnation before Cuckoo comes out,” Le Bor commented.

I grimaced. Ugh… I wouldn’t like meeting Cuckoo again. My face darkened even more when I thought that it was still better to untie hemp ropes than to rot underground, which would undoubtedly happen to my comrades if I ever messed up with the Solance. I dismissed my fears, bit my cheek and, after a while, jumped down a flight of stairs and said:

“Hey, sir.”

Le Bor was absorbed in his thoughts, but then he frowned and huffed.

“Will you please be careful when you walk down the stairs? Do you know how many Cats die from stupid falls, every year?” I shook my head. “Well, I don’t either. But quite a few,” he assured. He paused and sighed impatiently. “What’s the matter?”

I hesitated, looked at him warily, and said at last:

“Before… you said you were going to pop me off if I didn’t do what Frash… ouch… what that devil was asking of me. Well, I mean, would you really have done it? Would you have pop me off? Because… I thought we were friends. The other day, I told you that I liked you, but you didn’t say anything in return. So maybe you’re doing all this… because Frashluc asked you to and… because I helped you at Carnation. But, actually, you don’t like me, do you? I know sometimes I’m a pain in the ass. Rogan says it to me sometimes: a pain, you’re a pain. But I tell him that too, when he’s been bugging me too much with his prayers, and we’re still good buddies. So, that can’t be what’s bothering you. And it can’t be because I steal, because you stole from the dead, and that’s being a thief too, right? Then it must be because I’m a gwak. That’s why, right? Because, if it’s that, I understand. Well, not quite, but…”

I was about to continue, but the incredulous gasp of Le Bor interrupted me. The ruffian was staring at me, dumbfounded. He cleared his throat. He shook his head. And finally he said:

“You’re not a pain in the ass, Four-Hundred. You’re worse than that.”

He smiled and ruffled my hair.

“But I like you. Of course I like you. But don’t tell anyone, because as a rule, a guardian should mistreat, ignore and swindle his wards. As a general rule.”

I smiled broadly, incredulous, euphoric, amazed. Le Bor liked me! I knew it already, deep down, but… he liked me! Le Bor raised a hand.

“Hey, hey, I see you coming, no hugs…”

I hugged him anyway, briefly, so that he would not have time to get angry. And I said:

“I’m gonna get my cronies!”

I took off running, but Le Bor caught me by the collar of my coat and cut off my momentum.

“We’re going together. If I lose you and something happens to you, I risk my life. So, no adventures until the fateful day.”

I laughed at the idea that Le Bor was afraid to leave me alone and nodded, obediently.

“It runs, sir!”

* * *

A few hours later, I found myself lying on a makeshift straw mattress beside Manras and Dil, the Priest and Little Wolf. The faint light of a candle was streaming through the slits in the door to the room of Le Bor and the lady. There were whispers, breaths, clearing of throats…

“Mum. Mum.”

It was Dil. Sometimes he talked in dreams. He had nightmares. We all had them from time to time, but the little Prince had them almost every night. He dreamed of his mother: he always found her lying in bed, smiling. The shadows would come—horrible, terrible shadows, from what he said—and she would die. And then his father’s servant would appear, and bind his hands, and carry him in a cart, and throw him into the river, and Dil, the little devil, the cursed little nobleman, would drown… and he would wake up suffocating. Fortunately, in reality, Little Prince had not drowned: the servant had only threatened him and told him not to set foot in his father’s house again on pain of death. And the threat, obviously, continued to torment him almost two years later.

With a sigh, I put a consoling hand on a sleeping Dil, but it was no use, he woke up choking, and I gave him small slaps on the cheek.

“Oi, oi, Little Prince, go back to sleep, there’s no river here,” I whispered to him.

Half asleep, the gwak seemed to settle down. He went back to sleep, and soon the candle in the room was blown out, and the murmurs died with it. I sighed, turned, leaned back against the Priest, and looked at the wooden ceiling, the table, the two chairs, and the large window which opened on to the balcony. The shutters were closed, and a warm draught was coming in through the slits. In the distance, I could hear the voices of neighbors, people passing in the alley below, dogs barking, cats fighting.

After turning around once more, worried, I got up and walked on all fours to the shutters of the balcony. Like many of the Cats’ apartments, there was no glass in the windows. The apartment of Le Bor and his lady was on the third floor of a building halfway between the Bone Street and Gray Square. There was nothing special about it, it was an ordinary Cat home, and blasthell, to me, it was wonderful. Round, the welcome hadn’t been perfect: Taka had gotten angry at dear Shyuli because of the change of plans. But Le Bor knew her well: after seeing Little Wolf, Manras and Dil, the card queen had mellowed. She had washed their ears, asked me about my long-closed foot wound and, well, she had accepted us. This would probably only last as long as my training with Korther and the theft of the Solance… but still, I was glad that my companions finally knew Le Bor and his lady. Rogan said Le Bor looked like a fly, Manras said like a kingpin, but we all agreed that his lady was beautiful. Beautiful and full of character. The only condition she had imposed on all of us to stay had been this: blind obedience. The formula had frightened us, but, as I had no other solution than to stay, I had persuaded my companions not to leave me alone… It will be like having parents, I had told them. They’re rich, they’re almost like a bunch of nail-pinchers, and, damn, they’re the nicest people you’ll ever meet…! I had convinced my cronies very quickly. But Rogan… that was a different story. I’m not sure if it was because of my arguments, or because he owed me more than one, or simply because we were friends… in any case, he had stayed, that was what really mattered.

I brushed the old wood of the shutter and leaned my forehead to peek through a crack. Beyond the little balcony was the light of a candle in the window opposite. I changed the slit and finally saw what I was looking for. The sky. I was surprised when I saw that the ash cloud was gone, replaced by an ocean of stars. With great discretion, I cast a silence spell, opened the shutter and went out onto the balcony with a blanket. The night was warm, even though it was the middle of winter. I closed the door behind me, curled up and, lulled by the breeze and distant voices, looked up at the starry sky. My thoughts went back and forth and would not let me rest. I thought of Elassar—of both the undead and my cousin—and of the Solance, of my companions, of the hobbits, of the Blue One, and of Kakzail… But most of all, I remembered the words my nakrus master had spoken to me before we parted. ‘I taught you to look after yourself and see the reality as it is,’ he had said. And the more I repeated these words to myself, the more I grew dark, and then, after a long time, I finally stood up, leaned against the wooden railing, and muttered:

“Today something terrible happened to me, Elassar. I know you can’t hear me, but… I must tell someone.” I moistened my dry lips and whispered, “A sajit threatened to kill my comrades if I mess up. I want to do everything right. Really. I don’t want anything bad to happen to my comrades, or Le Bor, or the lady. I know it’s wrong, but I’m not doing it for the Cats. The earth can swallow the Rock, you know? I don’t care. I’m not doing it for the Cats,” I repeated. “I’m doing it because I’m afraid.”

I swallowed and added:

“I’m not a coward. See, you chased me away and I went to see the world. I did it for real. But I’m a long way from going to get you a ferilompard bone. Maybe I’ll never find it. Maybe that’s what you wanted. For me to not come back and stay with the sajits. Okay, fine. But I don’t know if you know that some of them are horrible. Now, what I’d like is for all the sajits that murder people to pop off. All of them. I’m not going to tell you any names, but you don’t know how much I’d like them to pop off. Because they scare me, Elassar. And I can’t sleep because of them.”

I wrapped my blanket around me nervously and curled up again, still looking at the stars. I didn’t want to close my eyes. I didn’t want to sleep and have nightmares like Dil. In the distance, the temple bells struck midnight.

33 A hellhound’s blunder

Dakis growled. Something in the air gave off energy. A strange energy.

Frowning, Shokinori turned and saw a young human with blue hair appear in the courtyard. Strange, he thought. Very strange.

‘She looks human, and at the same time, she isn’t,’ he muttered through his brejic voice.

The mist hellhound stopped growling.

‘She’s looking at me. Companion, she is looking at me strangely. I don’t like it.’ Dakis flared his nostrils. ‘Yabir and his weird ideas… Arf. Let’s get out of here.’

Shokinori placed a soothing hand on Dakis’ furry head as Yabir walked over to the strange creature and bowed, smiling. One had to admit that, despite his young age, Yabir was gifted in diplomacy. Wherever he went, he acted like a gentleman, whether it was among the magicians of the Conservatory, the gwaks, or the people of high society. A Baïra with class. His masters had taught him well. In terms of public relations, of course. When it came to being careful and rational, he was a disaster.

“We are looking for a man named Kakzail Malaxalra,” the good hobbit was saying. “From what we have been told, he is the brother of a child we know, Draen Hilemplert, and…”

Shokinori didn’t really understand what his companion was saying to the human: he was speaking in Drionsan. Still, he understood the meaning, and anyway, he knew what the talking was about: they had been looking for the boy for two days already. And while Yabir said the main reason was that he wanted to make sure the boy was okay, Shokinori suspected that the boy’s interest in the treasure and his obvious boldness had given Yabir ideas… risky ideas. Shokinori sighed. He knew that Yabir was interested in the treasure out of sheer curiosity, but curiosity had led more than one Baïra to the grave… Though, indeed, Yabir was perhaps the first Baïra to come so close to the goal. But many had thought so before him. The White Opal was deceiving. Who knows if it really existed! If only the Great Baïra had been able to communicate with him from afar and tell him: my son, come back home immediately…! Yabir would have returned. But, being so far away, the legends went to his head, he was excited with all the novelties… he was a happy scholar. In any case, Shokinori liked it much better when he saw him sitting quietly in the library looking for secret passages that would lead to Yadibia… and not to the center of the Rock. He sighed. By a hundred thousand gargoyles…

‘His eyes make me nervous,’ Dakis snorted.

He sat down on his hind legs, as if trying to calm down. Yabir continued to speak, saying that he wished to know if the lady knew the man, that he hoped he was not being intrusive… And the blue-haired human remained impassive. When, at last, Yabir fell silent, uncomfortable, she said something. Her voice, soft and serene, made Shokinori shiver. The hobbit stretched his neck.

‘Did she say she knew him?’

‘Maybe,’ the hellhound agreed. ‘I don’t know. How do you expect me to know. The polyglot here is Yabir. Can we go now?’

Shokinori did not answer, but he did not move, and Dakis obediently sighed and waited. Finally, the hellhound sniffed the air and declared, triumphantly:

‘He’s coming.’

Shokinori stood up.

‘Who? The boy?’

‘No, the brother,’ Dakis replied. ‘And his friends.’

Indeed, seconds later, a bearded man appeared through the archway of the courtyard, accompanied by a tattooed giant and a red-haired caitian. As Yabir introduced himself and then him, Shokinori bowed deeply and forced a smile. He felt a little uncomfortable, for the last time they had seen each other Dakis had startled the attendees of a wedding, sent the bearded man’s little brother up a tree, and as for him… he had been unable to communicate as a thinking being. If only he could have the same facility for learning languages as Yabir!

Now Yabir had taken out the famous newspaper and was showing it to Kakzail, explaining the misfortune: the boy he spoke of lived in that ruined house where two dead and, supposedly, many wounded had been found, given the traces of blood. None of the dead, thanks to Baïra, had been identified as the boy, they were not even part of the gang that lived within the dilapidated walls—there Yabir began to talk about his chronicle, and after a few moments, Kakzail interrupted him. He seemed like an honest man, Shokinori considered. Strange too, though not as strange as… her. He turned his head. And frowned. Where…?

He flinched when he saw the two young women on his left, the one with blue hair and the one with golden hair. They had the same face. And both of them were extremely strange.

‘They smell of energy more than flesh,’ Dakis commented.

Shokinori wouldn’t have been able to tell, but there was definitely something disturbing about these two young women. He immediately found himself in trouble when the blonde addressed him. Her words sounded friendly. Ouch, what to do? Shokinori bowed with great courtesy.

“I don’t speak Drionsan, thank you,” he articulated awkwardly. “I mean,” he croaked in Caeldric. And he corrected in Drionsan: “Sorry.”

The two young women, who looked so much alike except for their hair, looked at each other, surprised. Was it so strange that a foreigner couldn’t speak Drionsan? Well…

“Say… is that Caeldric what I just heard?” the blonde pronounced, bewildered.

Shokinori was stunned when he realized that he had understood. Dakis was as stunned as he was.

‘Just a minute,’ the hellhound barked mentally. ‘She spoke to you in Caeldric? I thought around here that language was deader than a païsko in a troll’s mouth?’

‘That’s what I thought, too,’ Shokinori said with a clearing of his throat.

‘The thing is, we’re not from Prospaterra,’ a voice in Shokinori’s head suddenly admitted.

It was the blue-haired girl who had just spoken. But she hadn’t opened her mouth. Shokinori and Dakis recoiled suddenly, as if an army of crabs had bitten them.

‘You’re talking to me using brejic arts?’ the hobbit exclaimed, mouth agape. Well, he hadn’t taken the precaution of speaking very low, but… even the wizards at the Conservatory couldn’t hear them! Who the hell were these two humans?

The blue-haired girl smiled, nodded, and spoke aloud:

“Where we come from, Caeldric is also a dead language. But my sister and I studied at a celmist academy in the Communities of Eshingra. And we used to communicate in Caeldric with a good alchemist friend before we learned Drionsan.”

Yabir had turned to her, fascinated.

“Great Baïra!” he marveled in Caeldric. “I cannot express my happiness. Foreigners like us. And coming from much further afield! The Communities of Eshingra. I know of that land. Well, I’ve never traveled there, of course, but we have books written by explorers, and the chronicles of Marevor Helith are a wealth of information for getting to know the Bayland. A beautiful land, isn’t it?”

The two young women exchanged half-amused, half-astonished smiles. The blue-haired one then looked at Shokinori. Devils, how those eyes made him uncomfortable… He heard her mentally ask:

‘Marevor Helith?’

‘Oh. He’s a famous repentant nakrus,’ the hobbit explained with a clearing of his throat.

‘I know who he is,’ she assured. ‘I knew him years ago. He was a professor in our academy.’

Shokinori blinked. Professor? Marevor Helith? And to think that, to him, Marevor Helith was more of a legendary figure than a real nakrus! Under Shokinori’s stunned gaze, the blue-haired young woman turned her head towards her blonde sister as she confirmed, answering Yabir’s question:

“Without a doubt. The Bayland is a beautiful land. Unfortunately, we had to leave it.”

“What happened?” Yabir asked worriedly.

The blonde shrugged.

“We took a mutation potion by mistake. And it turned us into pure energy sources. It was hell,” she said. “We had to leave, or they would have put us in a lab of curious beasts for the rest of our lives.”

Suddenly, an exclamation was heard, and Shokinori looked up to see the smiling face of a gnome appear through an open window.

“The past is the past, my dear daughters!” he said. “Everyone has misfortunes from time to time, but hey, life goes on!” His smile widened, “Welcome, strangers. It’s a pleasure to get to know people from elsewhere. Arkoldians are duller than a bottle with no solution! They have no idea how to live an adventure, or overcome a danger, or feel the excitement of it. Come in, come in! I’ll show you my laboratory.”

He closed the window. As Kakzail opened the door to the house, Yabir smiled wide.

“Who is this gentleman so jocular?” he inquired.

The blonde introduced him, beaming:

“Our godfather. The alchemist.”

And she gestured for them to pass. Dakis crossed the threshold behind the hobbits, and when, with childish enthusiasm, the blonde reached out a hand to pet him, he wagged his tail and said mentally:

‘As the necromancer puppy would say: ayo, ayo!’

Shokinori winced. Dakis had just let slip a pretty pearl. Had the twins noticed the word “necromancer”? Did they know already? He looked at them… and sighed. No, they didn’t know. And yes, they had noticed. But, since these twins knew Marevor Helith and had accepted him as a teacher, hopefully they would be more tolerant and understanding than others. Without bothering to speak low through brejic arts, he muttered in Caeldric:

‘Bigmouth.’

Dakis admitted in almost excellent Drionsan:

‘An isturbag, dead round. I can’t deny it.’

The hellhound smiled as he uncovered all his sharp teeth.

* * *

* * *

Author’s note: End of book 2. I hope you enjoyed the reading! To keep yourself up-to-date about new books, follow my blog, or see the maps, please visit my website. Have a nice day!