The Treasure of the Gwaks

Book 3

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 A mentor, a corpse, and a brother

“Go ahead.”

Korther’s voice was dry. Always dry. Always distant. I’d been going to the Black Daggers’ Hostel every day for two weeks, spending hours in the kap’s presence and even more doing my homework, deactivating and activating traps, casting harmonies, perfecting my spells… and nothing, Korther hadn’t made the slightest gesture to suggest he’d forgiven me. He was teaching me out of pure professional interest. But deep down, he despised me. I could feel it. Despite all my attempts to do everything right, to listen to him, to show my repentance, he did not forgive me for my betrayal.

I reached my right hand towards the lock and immediately perceived the spell. A trap? The pattern was complicated. I tried to understand it. It was unlike any I’d seen before. And to think that Yal had been drumming into my head so many tracings…! Well, I had ended up learning almost as much in two weeks as I had in a year.

I could feel the Black Dagger’s gaze on me from time to time. He was reading the newspaper The Estergatese. The biggest headline said:

‘Violent protests in the Cats district before an imminent vote in Parliament.’

Ironic as it may seem, lately I was only aware of what was going on in my neighborhood thanks to what I was told by my comrades and Le Bor. There had been some casualties, many arrests, illegal items confiscated, and many more malcontents. The flies had even gotten into The Blue Flame to disturb Yarras’ cousins. And they had arrested Sham, the tavern-keeper at The Drawer, for being involved in an arms deal. The Cats were furious, and with good reason: the progressives in Parliament wanted to demolish the lower part of the Cats, and under the pretext of wanting to put an end to the smuggling rings and provide a more dignified life for the poor, they were going to pass the decree in five days. And three days before that, that is, the day after tomorrow… if all went well, the Solance would disappear from the Estergat Palace along with the treasure of the vaults. If all went well.

I forced myself to concentrate on the lock. Korther kept increasing the difficulty. A few minutes earlier, I’d managed to disable a particularly complicated trap, and Korther had even nodded to show me that he’d seen it. That was the closest show of approval I’d seen so far in those two weeks.

The fire in the fireplace was sparking. Aberyl was sitting by it, knitting with two large needles while reading a book. I would have liked to ask him what he was going to make with that black ball of yarn and what the book he was reading was about, but whenever a question came to my mind that had nothing to do with the lesson, I kept it to myself. I had become a diligent, obedient, and… terribly shy student. A student who secretly hoped that Korther would eventually say: “Listen, lad, I know how I’m going to punish you, you’re going to spend a year scrubbing pots and pans and then I’ll forgive you.” And I would have done it willingly! But Korther never said anything other than: sit down, do this, do that, listen, you’re not doing it right, that’s how you do it. He hardly ever called me “lad” anymore.

Focus, Mor-eldal, I scolded myself. I closed my eyes and looked for some clue in the plot as to where the central mechanism was and how I could deactivate it without getting a shock or who knows what. In the past two weeks, despite my best efforts, I had already received more than one. Usually this happened when I had already been working for too many hours, exhaustion prevented me from thinking properly, and, bang, I blundered. Then Korther would say to me, without even looking at me: “Recite the route and come back tomorrow”.

Fortunately, I finally found something that vaguely resembled a tracing I knew. I could be wrong, but… I went for it. I felt my way through the energy threads and almost activated the trap, but after a few moments, I managed to break some of the links. And I deactivated it… Did I? Really? Yes.

I let out a sigh of relief, opened my eyes, and left the magara on the table without saying a word. Korther picked it up, tested it, and put it back on the table.

“Recite the route,” he said.

I looked at him, troubled. He usually asked me that at the end, when he sent me away because I had done something wrong. Had I not deactivated the magara properly? I breathed in and recited the route:

“I go to the round turret, enter through the narrow window using the hydra blood powder, open the first door, go straight to the back, turn right, then go straight to the stairs that go up…”

I kept saying: left, right, straight ahead… Korther was checking my litany on the map. I didn’t know how he got a map of the Palace, but I wasn’t surprised either. He knew what kind of traps I might encounter and how many night guards were watching the place.

I was in the middle of my monologue when the door suddenly opened. I turned and… saw Yalet. My cousin made an embarrassed face.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were done. I’ll wait outside,” he said with a clearing of his throat.

“That won’t be necessary,” Korther assured. “We’re almost finished. Sit down. And bar that door.”

Yal nodded, closed the door, greeted Aberyl, and went to sit at the table. I hadn’t seen my master since I spoke with him at the Capitol. Did he know about the Solance? I swallowed, and as Korther looked at me, impatient, I tried to remember where I had left off.

“I open the third door on the right. I go down the stairs. And—and I arrive at the Solance room. No,” I corrected myself hastily. “Before that, I have to open a gate, with hydra blood too. If there’s a guard there, I use the satranin before he raises the alarm. Once there’s no one left, I open the doors of the treasure chambers. Now I touch nothing but the Solance. I take it. I open the locks on the north wing service door, disable the traps, and give the signal for you to enter. Ah, and I leave the traps disabled.”

I fell silent. I hoped that Korther would not ask me to repeat the whole thing. He asked:

“What are you opening the doors with?”

“With the picklock coated with the golden potion,” I replied. “The golden potion neutralizes the energies, and the traps do not activate.”

“But you know how to deactivate traps. So why use it?” Korther insisted.

“Because I have to act very quickly,” I replied at once.

There was silence. Then Korther folded the map, folded The Estergatese, and put his hands together on the table.

“Ab, want to join us?”

“With pleasure,” Aberyl replied. He left his needles, his ball of yarn, and his book, stretched, yawned behind his muffler, and went to sit casually on the one chair still free, declaiming, “And here are the four thieves of the Solance, hovering between life and death. An epic moment.”

He took off his muffler and revealed a slight mocking smile directed at Korther. Korther huffed and turned to Yal.

“Did you bring the newspaper of the first Mistday, boy?” My cousin nodded and took it out. Korther looked through it, found what he was looking for, and approved. “Perfect.” He tossed the paper, and it landed on the table, right under my nose. “Read this, lad. Second column, at the very bottom.”

Under the gaze of the three Black Daggers, I frowned in puzzlement and glanced at the article. So much effort in disabling traps was giving me a headache, and my eyes were stinging. I read in a tired voice:

“Gamble… er… house…”

“Gambling-house vandalized with Morelic graffiti,” Korther helped me impatiently. “Go on, go on.”

I clenched my jaw. I was nervous. And when I was nervous, I couldn’t read. Even less so now that I could imagine what the article was about. The first Mistday, Korther had said. That old paper had been printed right after the graffiti I’d done with Diver to get back at the Black Hawk. Korther knew that I could write Caeldric and that I hated the Black Hawk to death for what he had done… It was only a short step to guessing who was responsible for the graffiti.

Okay. So what if he knew? I rubbed my forehead…

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get sick now, huh?” Korther snarled.

“No, sir,” I assured him.

The thought of getting sick just before I went to steal the Solance terrified me, and I tried to keep reading. It was useless. I stumbled over every sign, made up more than half the words, skipped as many, and my eyes were delirious. I knew it was due to the lack of karuja, it must have been six o’clock in the afternoon, and when I was tired, the effects would wear off quicker.

Finally, frustrated at my inability, I fell silent. The silence of the three Black Daggers finally broke me.

“Whatever, yeah, it was me,” I threw out. “So what? That scumbag deserves to be hanged.”

Korther cocked his head to one side, thoughtful.

“Frashluc was taking taxes from the Black Hawk for his business, and he pocketed his share on the backs of the sokwatas. Tell me, in your opinion, does this man deserve to be hanged too?”

I didn’t dare tell him that I thought he did. I did not know to what extent Korther was or was not a friend of Frashluc. I resumed my reserved attitude and remained silent.

“Answer,” Korther insisted. “Does this man deserve to be hanged too?”

He had raised his voice slightly. I flinched and stammered:

“No, sir.”

Korther expressed neither satisfaction nor displeasure at my answer. He drummed his fingers on the wood.

“What if I told you he deserves it?”

I frowned and found nothing better to do than to remain stubbornly mute. After a silence, Aberyl intervened:

“Psychological evaluations aside, Kor, how about we get to the point?”

Korther sighed.

“Well. Just a word of advice. Don’t ever draw Morelic signs again: it could only get you into trouble. This writing is the ancient writing of abominations, monsters… and necromancers.”

I opened my eyes wide as I saw his eloquent grimace. He was looking at my right hand. I abruptly pulled it off the table and turned to Yal, stunned. How could he do this? How could he betray me like that? Besides, they were demons, and they hated mortic energy, and they hated the undead! How could he do that?

Guessing my thoughts, Yalet winced and shook his head.

“I didn’t say anything, sari. Aberyl had his suspicions, and I had no choice but to confirm. I assure you they won’t do anything to you.”

I continued to stare at him with a beaten dog face. Knowing that running away would not help, knowing that I was trapped like a squirrel in a cage, I remained motionless in my chair, more dead than alive. That they were not going to do anything to me? As if. They were demons! And Korther hated me…

Aberyl took out a stick of licorice and began chewing on it while muttering:

“He’ll die of fear before you tell him you forgive him, Kor. You’re so slow…! Look how fantastic this is. We have a little necromancer sitting right in front of us. He reads like a donkey, he probably doesn’t know what an integral is or how to pinpoint Veliria on a map, but he’s able to move a hand made of nothing but bones… with mortic energy! Isn’t that wonderful?” He pulled the licorice stick from his mouth and pointed it at me. “As long as you don’t get the idea to use your energy on me, I don’t care what you do with it. Neither does Korther… even if he doesn’t say a word!” He chuckled, looking at his companion with mockery. “Our big, tolerant kap hasn’t quite swallowed it yet, but he’s working on it,” he assured me. He smiled, “Relax, kid.”

I relaxed. I went from nervousness to expectation. I looked at Korther’s expression. It didn’t reflect revulsion, just the same aloofness he’d shown for the past two weeks. His reptilian eyes, however, were as keen and attentive as ever. Yal cleared his throat.

“I don’t know if you understood correctly, sari. Korther has forgiven you.”

“More like, I offer him a job in exchange for my forgiveness,” Korther corrected, breaking his silence.

Yal made a pout. I looked at the kap, dumbfounded.

“A job!” I repeated. I didn’t know whether to feel optimistic or suspicious.

“A job so I can forgive you,” Korther confirmed, “and more jobs before you can come back for good. In the end, you will do as Yerris did: follow the path of penance. If, by then, you try to fool me again, you will have wasted your one opportunity. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded.

“Ragingly. I really didn’t want to go into… your office,” I finished in a whisper.

The kap had raised a hand to silence me. I closed my mouth. He sighed.

“The work is about the theft of the Solance. Today is the last time we’ll see each other until the day after tomorrow and…” He watched me, his eyes squinting. “I want you to steal something for me and not tell Frashluc about it.”

I turned pale. He didn’t mean the Sol…?

“It’s an object that you might subconsciously recognize if you manage to examine the tracing,” Korther explained. “I’m not sure it’s in the vaults, but… something tells me it is.”

I quietly let out a sigh of relief. If he had asked me to bring him the Solance, I would have told him no. The lives of my companions were at stake. But for me to steal one of the many jewels that must be in those vaults… well, Frashluc would never know.

“And how do I recognize it from afar?” I asked.

Korther clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

“According to the legend, it is a white opal.”

I was speechless and felt the excitement wash over me.

“Blasthell. The White Opal? The one of the treasure? I mean, the treasure of the Purple Orb. That Opal? It’s in the Palace!”

I couldn’t believe it.

“So Shokinori and Yabir have told you about it too,” Korther sighed, his face darkening. “I wonder how many people know about it. Those two hobbits are going to end up having their throats slit by Greed itself if they don’t get out of Estergat quickly.”

Aberyl huffed, amused. Yal intervened:

“Sorry, but… you’ve lost me.”

Korther shrugged.

“In short, the Purple Orb is linked to two Opals. The Black and the White. The hobbits have had the Black one since they left Yadibia. The White one… is a mystery. Some say it doesn’t exist and others that the link to it is misleading. And it is, without a doubt. I’ve been examining the Purple Orb for hours. And Yabir confirmed my impressions: there is a second link, but it is as fickle as the wind. However,” he smiled, “the Baïras say that this time it is different. The bond is stronger than ever. So they say. And they are convinced that the opal is in a place towards the top of the Rock, perhaps inside the Rock. And… well. The Palace’s treasure chambers are buried in the Rock. The idea that it’s being kept there is plausible. Anyway, Draen, you look for it, and if you find it, you try to make sure there’s a link behind it… It may be not obvious,” he acknowledged at my unconvinced expression. “But you’ve had the Purple Orb in your hands for quite a few hours… maybe you can figure it out. In any case, if you find it, you hide it and give it to Aberyl when you get out.”

I smiled. I knew it. I knew Yabir was looking for the treasure! But, if the opal really was in the Palace, it was neither a very accessible treasure… nor was it a very epic place to find it: everyone knew there were untold riches in there. It lacked a touch of adventure. I don’t know, I’d imagined a magical dragon treasure, not a nail-pincher treasure. But… who would value a pile of junk except for nail-pinchers? Not dragons, of course. Unless there was a nail-pincher dragon. I tried to imagine a huge lizard with a top hat, a baton, and a frock coat. No, it wasn’t believable.

“Let me get this straight,” Korther said, interrupting my thoughts. “You touch the Solance and the White Opal and nothing else.”

I wiped off my smile and nodded.

“It runs. And if I do not find the opal?”

Korther shrugged.

“Then you don’t find it.” he replied. He stood up and walked around the table while saying, “When you get there, don’t lose focus, remember the route well and… don’t let anyone see you. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

I knew from his tone that it was time to leave. I stood up under his expression which, more than a “I trust you” said “if you fail me, I will consider you as a hopeless case”. I walked away to the door and was already removing the bar when Yal called out:

“Wait a minute! I forgot.” He walked over and gave me an embarrassed smile while handing me a small package. “This is for you. Well… I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. Don’t stress too much.”

I nodded and looked inside the package. I laughed. They were butter cookies.

“Thunders! Are these from the same store you bought in the winter?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed.

We exchanged a smile of reconciliation. I no longer felt betrayed. I forgave him with a friendly pout and wavered on the threshold.

“Well, I’m going. Ayo, Yal.”

“Good night, sari,” he replied, smiling.

I went out into the dark dead end. It was already dark and terribly cold, even with the new coat Taka had bought me. I sped up my pace. When I reached the end of Bone Street, I found a worried figure walking in circles, smoking a cigar. As soon as Le Bor saw me, he threw the cigar away and grunted.

“It was about time. Let’s go home, Four-Hundred. And hurry up, I’ve got stuff to take care of. Good mother, it’s so cold.”

I quickly followed him. Le Bor had really taken my safety seriously: not a single day since my first lesson had he failed to be there waiting to drive me home. I don’t know if he was afraid that someone would stab me on the way or that I would take forbidden detours. In any case, he protected me as if I were his own son.

“Sir,” I complained, half walking and half trotting beside him so as not to fall behind. “Not so fast, I can’t keep up. The karuja…”

“At home,” Le Bor replied.

I endured my pain and continued to move mechanically. The harder I tried, the worse I felt. Buildings, Cats, and animals became mere shapes which I clumsily avoided. When I was about to bump into a stopped cart, I grabbed Le Bor’s arm. He gave a low growl. At last, we reached the building, went inside, climbed the stairs, and the last two flights of stairs, Le Bor carried me halfway up. I heard him greeting some of the neighbors, and we walked down the corridor, and I wrinkled my nose at a cat that was hissing and bristling—it was the Tassian neighbor’s cat, who was as grumpy and crazy as its owner. At last Le Bor took out the key and opened our door.

The interior was silent. Was there anyone there? No, no one. Le Bor disappeared into the room and returned with a karuja ball. I swallowed it. And it was heaven: little by little, the pain subsided, my eyes stopped burning, my mind cleared… After a few moments, I noticed that Le Bor was busy in the adjoining room. I peeped in.

“What are you doing?” I asked, curious.

Le Bor was pulling something from under the bed. He gave an exasperated grunt.

“None of your business, Four-Hundred.”

And with long strides he came over and shut the door in my face. To my surprise he opened it again after two seconds.

“Or maybe it is,” he corrected. He looked at me intently. “Tell me, do the Dead scare you?”

The question left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“The Dead?” I repeated. “The real Dead?” I shrugged, acting bravado. “Not one bit. I’ve seen plenty of them. Why?”

Le Bor sighed and opened the bedroom door wide. He motioned for me to follow him, and finished drawing what he had been drawing before. Before me appeared… a dead man wrapped in a sheet.

“Don’t think this happens to me often,” Le Bor coughed. “Usually, I dig dead people up, I don’t bury them, but… this isturbag came into my house, holding a dagger, making threats… You don’t treat Le Bor like that, you understand? So it turned out badly. But it could have been worse: it so happens that, precisely tonight, I had planned a little work with a friend. We’ll dig up the buried one and put this one in its place.”

He sat down on the bed with a grimace of annoyance and concluded:

“Scrub the floor, will you? You need to scrub it to get all the blood off. Thank goodness tonight Taka is working. I don’t want her to hear about this.”

I nodded but did not move. After a few seconds, I spoke again.

“What’s his name?”

Le Bor glared at me.

“Who cares about his name? There’s no point in calling him anymore. But if you want to call him, call him Isturbag. Go get the brush, Four-Hundred.”

I did as I was told, and within a few minutes, I was on my knees beside the corpse, scrubbing the floor and smearing it with soap. And as I worked, I wondered what my companions were doing at the moment. Rogan must have gone to sell prayers on Tarmil Avenue. As for my cronies… they might well be with Swift. One of the first nights, they’d had to sleep in the hallway, Little Wolf included, because Taka had considered coming back at two in the morning an “aberration”. She had asked Le Bor to spank the older children with a belt, and she had taken the Master away from Little Wolf because she thought it was a “horrible” doll. Her punishment stunned even me. Since then, the little one played with a little wooden horse during the day and… slept with the Master at night. How could I have left him without the Master! There was no way in hell I would do that: every night, when Taka went to sleep, I took him out of his hiding place, and the little one, of course, forgot about the horse right away.

Well, well, well, I was thinking of bone dolls when I actually had no less than a whole corpse within a few feet of me. I glanced at the dead man wrapped in his sheet, looked down at the muddy boots and… Oddly enough, I didn’t feel impressed. If he had been innocent, perhaps I would have felt sorry. But since he had entered Le Bor’s house to threaten him… He had it coming.

Scrub, scrub, scrub… I growled.

“Dammit, it’s not going away!”

Le Bor was sitting at the dining room table, looking as if he were deep in thought. He did not answer me. I sighed, took out a butter biscuit and wolfed it down with delight before continuing to rub and rub. And there I was, growing more and more bored, when suddenly someone knocked at the front door, and I straightened up. Could it be my companions? No, it was too early. Normally, they did not appear until nine o’clock.

I looked questioningly at Le Bor. He did not get up immediately, and again someone knocked on the door. Firmly. As if it were a hitman or a fly… Finally Le Bor left his seat and stormed into the room. With my help, he rolled the isturbag back under the bed. Another knock at the door. Damn… Le Bor slipped a dagger into his sleeve and growled:

“Stay in the room.”

He closed the door of the room and went to open the door that was being banged on outside. I rushed to listen through the wood and heard a deep voice say:

“Good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you. Does this young man live here?”

“By no means,” Le Bor replied.

“Sir!” Rogan’s voice exclaimed. “It’s not what you think. That fly brings the cure. For real. He says he’s going to give us the cure for the sokwata. But first, he wants to see Sharpy. He’s his brother… By all the spirits, it’s true!”

I heard a thump that I did not understand. I was stunned for a second… It was Kakzail! I jumped up and ran out of the room. And I saw that my elder brother, dressed in a fly uniform, had just prevented Le Bor from closing the door by interposing a boot. His eyes fell upon me. And a smile stretched his lips.

“I don’t think I came to the wrong door, sir. May I come in?”

Le Bor gave me a murderous look. I hurriedly pushed the bedroom door shut to make sure nobody would see anything from the dining room and approached with a half-intrigued, half-apprehensive pout.

“Is that thing about the cure true? Did the alchemist find it?” I asked, hopeful.

“He found it,” Kakzail confirmed. He snorted as he slid inside, “And I finally find you.”

Rogan followed him, handcuffed to my brother’s wrist. He half hid behind my brother, gestured to me as if to say, “what a mess, sorry,” and glanced cautiously at Le Bor. However, Le Bor was concentrating his attention on the intruder; he recovered his casual attitude and gave Kakzail a cold smile.

“Kindred Spirits, then you really are the boy’s brother,” he said. “Glad to know you. Draen’s hardly told me anything about you, but… very glad nonetheless. I’m Barri Shuk,” he introduced himself, extending a hand. I arched an eyebrow. Barri Shuk?

Kakzail looked at him. He shook his hand and replied:

“Kakzail Malaxalra.”

“A valley name, as expected. And exactly what did this boy do?” Le Bor inquired, pointing vaguely to Rogan.

Kakzail turned his gaze to the handcuffs and to my comrade and grimaced.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I found him begging on the street.”

“Begging!” Rogan cried out indignantly. “I was praying, not begging! Praying is a job like any other. I am a priest.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kakzail replied, mockingly. And he turned his attention back to Le Bor. “Look, I don’t know who you are exactly, but I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I take my brother home with me.”

Le Bor gave him a wolfish smile.

“Natural I don’t. The boy is free. But…” He put a strong arm around my shoulders in a fatherly gesture. “I’m afraid Draen doesn’t want to go, eh, kid?”

“Dead round, sir,” I confirmed. “I’m fine here, Kakzail. I’m not moving from here. But, say… if you could still give me the cure…”

Kakzail gave me a funeral look. I felt as if I were misunderstood, and I was, because I couldn’t explain to him as it was: “listen, if I don’t steal Estergat’s Jewel the day after tomorrow, I’ll have popped off my companions” If I had, he would have sent us all to Carnation, immediately. After all, brother or not, he was a fly.

After a brief silence, Kakzail released Rogan’s wrist, saying:

“Mr. Shuk, if you don’t want us to search and watch your apartment, you’ll have to let my brother come with me. You know we have every right to enter the houses in this neighborhood without permission. I’m sorry, little brother,” he added, taking a step toward me. “It’s for your own good.”

He grabbed me by the wrist to cuff me… I resisted like a demon, but he was stronger than I was, so I thought, if Kakzail catches me, goodbye Solance, goodbye companions, goodbye Bor and Taka. So, without giving it much thought, I gathered as much mortic energy as I could in a short time and released it on my brother. It so happened that, at the same time, Le Bor threw a masterful punch at him… Kakzail collapsed, and I fell with him, dragged down by the handcuffs.

“Kakzail!” I exclaimed. I shook him. He did not move. Horror filled me. “Bor. Is he dead? Tell me, is he dead?”

Le Bor arched an eyebrow, looking surprised.

“How do you expect him to die, Four-Hundred. I just punched him.”

“Tell me he’s not dead!” I shouted, panicked.

Le Bor huffed, leaned over and put a hand on the gladiator’s neck. He shook his head.

“He is alive,” he assured me. My concern was such that even he looked relieved. Then his expression closed. “Spirits. You’ve frankly got us in trouble, Four-Hundred. Didn’t I tell you to stay in the room? Why did you come out of the room?”

He was very angry. It was normal: we had an unconscious fly in the house because of me. But, blasthell, we also had a dead body in the room, and that one wasn’t my fault. I defended myself:

“You were going to kick the Priest out! You said you wouldn’t chase away my friends.”

“I said I wouldn’t chase them away until they gave me some trouble. This house is not your friends’ house, nor is it your house. So, from now on, your comrades: out. Out,” he insisted, moving towards the Priest. “Get out and don’t come back here.”

As he approached him, Rogan, looking very pale, backed up towards the exit door.

“But, sir, the cure…”

“The cure won’t do you much good if you stay here, believe me,” Le Bor retorted tartly.

Trapped in handcuffs, I half-stood up, protesting:

“It’s not fair!”

Maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t; either way, Le Bor was very persuasive, and when the distance between them shrank more than was prudently acceptable, Rogan took to his heels. Already in the corridor, he shouted:

“See you, Sharpy, take care!”

The door closed with a bang. I dropped to the floor under the dark gaze of Le Bor. With a scowl, I looked away and reached into my brother’s pockets with my free hand, looking for the key. I found a box of smograss, and a small bottle with a clear liquid, and the key. To my annoyance, Le Bor grabbed the bottle from my hands.

“Is that the cure?” he asked.

“And what do I know,” I replied briskly as I freed my hand. “Give it back.”

Instead of giving it back to me, Le Bor put me on my feet by force and twisted my arm until I groaned in pain.

“Today I’m in a very bad mood, so don’t push your luck,” he growled in a dull voice. “I’m going to get rid of these two isturbags, and you’re going to stay home and scrub the floor. And if there’s a single trace left, if my lady sees anything, or if this business with your brother gets me and my lady in trouble…you’re going to pay for it with your life, Four-Hundred. You hear me?”

“You’re full of big talk” was what I wanted to say. However, even though I didn’t think Le Bor was capable of killing me, I knew he was capable of beating me up. And I didn’t want to go and steal the Solance with my whole body aching. So I kept quiet while Le Bor disappeared into the room. He came back with a vial in his hand.

“Good mother,” I startled. “What’s that?”

“A sedative,” Le Bor explained.

I hesitated. A sedative? Really? I fidgeted.

“You’re not gonna kill him, are you? Because… because, if you kill him, I’ll pop you off for real, Bor. He’s my brother. I’m serious.”

Le Bor looked up to the sky.

“Your threats terrify me, Four-Hundred. Bah,” he huffed at my tormented face. “Don’t worry. I’m not an assassin. The one in the bedroom was an accident. And he had it coming. Your brother, I’ll just take him somewhere out of the way, and in the morning, when he comes back to this house, he’ll learn that Mr. Shuk doesn’t live here anymore. By the time he finds out my real name, I’ll be long gone.” He smiled. “At last.”

I swallowed, my heart empty.

“So you’re leaving. With the lady?”

“Natural,” the ruffian confirmed, “Tomorrow, I must return you to Frashluc. And from then on… I am free. But, until then, Four-Hundred, you do as I command. Get to work.”

I sighed mournfully and went back into the room to scrub the floor beside the corpse. I scrubbed with all my energy but with a grieving heart. It pained me to have to treat Kakzail in this way, to have Le Bor sedate him and leave him to go who knows where… but it was necessary. Because I couldn’t miss my appointment at the Palace for anything in the world.

So I tried to accept the situation, and when Le Bor’s friend came around midnight, I watched in silence as they both took my sleeping brother away. They came back for the corpse. And when Le Bor locked me in, I continued to scrub the floor. The stains wouldn’t go away. And the horrible uncertainty of doing something wrong didn’t leave my mind either. It rarely happened to me. When I stole from my victims, I justified it by thinking, “Ah, they’re a bunch of nail-pinchers, they’ve got a roof over their heads, their bellies are full, they’ve got an education, whereas I’m hungry, I want karuja, and, good mother, that’s the way life is: if they’re rich it’s because they’ve stolen before”. Yal had told me that, and it was true. I hadn’t felt guilty either when I killed Warok. And helping to cover up the death of this guy I didn’t know who had threatened Le Bor didn’t cause me any remorse of conscience. But to have attacked my brother with a mortic discharge? That was unforgivable. It was abominable. And if I added to that act the knowledge that Le Bor was going to abandon me, that he was going to leave Estergat with Taka, that he was going to forget me… my sadness grew and grew in a bubble that would not burst. And the worst part was that I understood Le Bor. I understood that, for him, staying in Estergat was like sleeping in the middle of a pack of hungry wolves. Frashluc on one side, the flies on the other… On second thought, I wished he would go away and live in peace away from the Rock, with Taka; that he would have children of his own, not depraved gwaks; that they would both be happy at last. I have to admit that in those two weeks I had imagined us as a family. But that was ridiculous. I had no right to ask Le Bor to help me any more than he had already done. He liked me, yes, but he liked the lady much more. I was “Four-Hundred”. And she was a queen. So, thank you, sir dad, and thank you, ma’am; may the Spirits protect you, and… ayo.

As always.

I gritted my teeth, hit the floor with the brush, and continued to scrub.

2 Sneaking into the treasure vaults

I was walking along the Esplanade, singing happily, when suddenly the manticore rose and the fountains began to spit blood. Flies with brushes rushed at me and shouted: “Scrub, scrub, you lout!” And I obeyed them, appalled. Dil arrived and whispered in my ear, “Sharpy, you forgot, you were supposed to nab the Solance, you were late, but don’t worry, it doesn’t matter, do you think I’m going to die? Am I going to die?” he repeated. And a river of blood dragged and drowned all my comrades. The last thing I saw of them was Rogan’s hat floating on a red sea… I screamed.

I woke with a start, sitting up and shaking. It was a dream! It was all a dream! Damn, what a stupid dream, I spat mentally. I caught my breath as I looked around sharply.

I was lying on a straw mattress in a small, almost empty room. There was a window with bars through which the daylight was streaming in. However, I was strictly forbidden to go near the curtains, and especially to draw them: no one passing in the street should see me. Probably because the house I was in was in a high part of the city… The Harp, perhaps.

I didn’t know when I had been brought here, I couldn’t remember anything: after leaving the Cats’ apartment and going to the Yellow Dragon with Le Bor, I had fallen asleep with exhaustion, and it was only at nightfall that I had woken up, shaken by a masked dark elf. He had brought me food and given me karuja, and when I had asked him where Le Bor was and where I was, he had answered: “stay quiet and don’t show your face at the window or I cut your throat”. And he’d added: “Remember what the kap will do to your friends if you don’t obey; tomorrow some people will come to get you”.

Those were the only words I had heard since I had been within these four walls. I had not seen anyone else either. I stood up, stretched, and put my ear to the door. There was no sound. Then I amused myself by reciting the names of the bones in Caeldric: my master had taught me a song to remember them. I did a handstand while singing, walked on my hands, talked to myself, and unwittingly, gradually raised my voice. After a while, I realized it and suddenly fell silent, frightened. Blasthell. The dark elf wasn’t going to get angry, was he? He didn’t: besides, he didn’t seem to be in the house. In fact, everything seemed to indicate that no one was living in the property. I hoped that the neighbors had not heard anything.

Anyway, I didn’t have much time to get bored before nightfall. I was singing in a whisper a “Trah-la-lah, I picked this morning, trah-la-lah, a little sprig of jasmine. This morning I picked it for you, my friend, a little jasmine…”, well, I was at that point when I heard a sound of very light footsteps, followed by the sound of a key in the lock. I fell silent, and the door opened, revealing a dark lantern light.

“Is that the boy?” a voice whispered.

“Who else could it be?” another voice replied, and pointing the light straight at me, he confirmed, “It’s him.”

Both were masked, but I recognized the voice of the second: it was Jarvik the Albino, Frashluc’s servant and regular of The Drawer. I stood up and approached.

“Ayo. Is it time?” I asked.

“It’s time,” the Albino said. And he reached into his pocket. “Here, the karuja. I brought some bread too.”

“Good mother, thank you,” I rejoiced.

I swallowed the karuja first and then the bun in a few bites. I could hardly swallow the last piece because I was so nervous.

“Come on, let’s go,” the Albino encouraged me.

I walked out, and as the stranger led the way, the Albino closed it. A mere glance around the house informed me that we were not in the Cat’s or Tarmil’s neighborhood: this was Atuerzo at least. Or the Harp. I confirmed it when we came out: we were right next to the Citadel wall, right on top of the Rock. I couldn’t believe I’d been brought there in broad daylight. Perhaps there was a secret passage inside the house? It was exhilarating just to imagine.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be no secret way into the Citadel itself: the Palace was there, and to get in there we would have to climb the wall—not too difficult a task, I thought, considering that it was old and covered with vines.

Our guide stopped at a street corner, facing the wall, and gestured. We stood against a wall, waiting for a patrol to pass. It was cold, but I was so excited and altered that I could hardly feel it. As the light of the lanterns faded away, I looked at the wall through the darkness of the night. I remembered that, according to Yerris, Yalet had once entered there for his test of initiation into the Brotherhood of the Black Daggers. He had pinched a hundred siatos, and the Black Cat held him in high esteem for it. Well, what kind of esteem Yerris was going to have for me when I snatched the very Jewel of Estergat and helped rob the Palace’s treasure! That is, if all went well.

Suddenly, the Albino made a rather rude night bird sound. I rolled my eyes mockingly.

“Was that supposed to be an owl hoot? I can do better,” I commented.

I received a smack on the back of my neck. A few seconds later, the Albino said:

“Let’s go.”

We moved towards the wall, and I noticed that a rope had appeared and was hanging from the battlements. The Albino took it and tied me up quickly, whispering in my ear:

“Don’t forget: when you come back, you give the Solance to me. You know what’s at stake. Good luck.”

He gave a sharp tug on the rope, and my feet lifted off the ground. Half climbing, half hoisted by the rope, I reached the top faster than I thought possible. No sooner had I climbed over the battlements than a hand caught me and forced me to duck down. I squinted, and using the faint blue light of the Gem, recognized my companion and smiled.

“Elassar,” I whispered. “Happy to see you.”

My cousin covered my mouth in exasperation and motioned for me to follow him. I followed him, more and more certain that everything was going to be all right. After all, I was not alone: I was accompanied by the Black Daggers, the most skilful thieves in Estergat!

We descended to a roof adjoining the wall, passed to another roof below, and landed in a garden. I hardly looked around, only trying to keep my eyes on Yal, to make no noise, to avoid the puddles… but I still noticed the lights of the fountains, and the shining mosaics of the paths and stairways which led up through the gardens. Flower gardens, here, in winter!

It was like another world. And that made me uneasy. I relaxed a little when, after walking around the glittering fountains, we came to a grove of tall trees. They reminded me of the trunks in the valley, big and branchy. Some of them offered a good shelter for the night. Were there any squirrels? There probably were. But, of course, I couldn’t be sure because squirrels never came out at night.

We joined another figure in the darkness. That of Ab.

“Ayo,” I whispered, crouching down close to him.

I followed the direction of his gaze, and was left in awe. There, close by, half hidden behind the shrubs, stood a side of the palace. It was large, not very high, but majestic. From the Cats one could see only the circular tower. From here, I could see the imposing glass windows, the golden roof, the bluish stones that shone under the light of the Gem…

“Wow, classy,” I breathed out, amazed. “What’s it made of?”

Aberyl forced me to bend down further.

“Of celestial stone, taken from your land,” he answered in a low voice.

I exhaled in disbelief. They had brought stones from the Evon-Sil Valley to make the Palace? Thunders!

“It must be at least a thousand years old,” I blurted out.

Aberyl choked, mocking.

“No, son. The first palace was built over two thousand years ago, but a landslide completely destroyed it a century ago, and they built a new one, bigger and more luxurious, to the great honor of the Fiedman family.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“The Fiedman? They live there?”

“Absolutely. Ever since Stirxis Fiedman was elected president of Parliament.”

“Ah, that’s right. He created it. I know that,” I said in an expert tone. “Actually, I knew a Fiedman, some time ago. Shudi Fiedman. He painted my portrait.”

Aberyl laughed under his breath.

“Yeah, sure.”

I frowned.

“What? I’m not lying,” I protested. “Yal knows I’m not lying. Right, Yal…?”

I turned and fell silent when I saw that my cousin was not behind me.

“He’s gone to keep watch,” Ab explained. And he stepped quietly further into the bushes, away from the edge, adding, “Enough of this chatter. I brought your tools.”

For the next few moments, the Black Dagger provided me with all sorts of paraphernalia, advice, and warnings. Finally, after I repeated several “Yes, yes”, “I know”, and “sure”, Aberyl fell silent. We sat on a large root, freezing, waiting for the right time to come. Inside me, tension was mixed with growing excitement, for I had realized that day that, if I triumphed, I would not only save my companions, but I would gain the consideration of the Black Daggers. At least a little.

For a while, I listened to the whisper of the night breeze blowing through the bare branches. Then I whispered:

“Ab.”

“Mm,” Aberyl said, distracted.

I breathed in, bit my lip, and said:

“Say. Are you a demon?”

Aberyl did not answer immediately, and regretting to have broached the subject, I stammered:

“Forget it.”

I heard him gasp, amused.

“Hard to forget,” he breathed in then. “But, for everyone’s sake, let’s forget it.”

That sounded very much like a confirmation. I smiled, slapped my forehead theatrically, pretended to throw something away, and said:

“Forgotten.”

I saw the demon shake his head, perhaps smiling behind his muffler. I would have liked to ask him if what my master had told me about that energy of Life that was awakened in demons was true… but I was supposed to have “forgotten”. Tsk. After a silence, Aberyl inquired:

“What was the name of this master of the valley?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Yabir says he may have been called Narsh-Ikbal. I don’t know his name.”

I saw Aberyl turn his head sharply towards me.

“Yabir? Does he know that…?”

I pouted and nodded.

“It’s because of Dakis, the hellhound,” I explained. “He recognized the mortic energy in my hand. Besides, these guys are Baïras. They know a bunch of things.”

“Mm… No doubt about it,” Aberyl muttered. He pulled his hood down better. “Tell me, kid, out of curiosity. Did you ever think of giving up that hand?” I looked at him, stunned, as he pondered, “Unless you have other body parts that—”

“No,” I cut him off, shocked. “It’s my hand. Giving it up… But what the blasthell are you saying—”

“Keep it down, son,” Aberyl interrupted.

I bit my lips with an apologetic pout which he surely could not see. At that moment, the bells of a temple rang out twelve o’clock, and I stiffened again, sitting on my root. Aberyl rose to his feet.

“Forget it. It was just a question. Do you have everything you need?”

I stood up, fumbling awkwardly in my pockets.

“I… think so.”

Aberyl paused for a moment.

“Are you ready?”

I breathed in and sent my apprehensions chase the clouds before stating:

“Ragingly.”

“Good. And… I suppose you remember the ‘if I sing, I’m dead’ lesson, and ‘if I’m seen, I run for it, if I’m caught, I’ll hold my tongue’,” Aberyl recited calmly.

I gave a slight offended grunt.

“I know,” I said. “The only thing I sing is songs. But, anyway, I won’t be seen or caught.”

Aberyl placed a proud and amused hand on my shoulder.

“That’s the spirit, kid. Let’s go.”

I followed him to Yal’s hiding place, heard them whispering, and then Aberyl surrounded himself with a subtle harmonic haze and gently pushed me forward. We approached the Palace with a rather quiet gait. There were no guards outside. We arrived at the blue wall of the Palace, and Aberyl changed the harmonies. I couldn’t see the result from my perspective, but if someone from the outside had looked at the wall, they probably wouldn’t have seen anything but the bluish, valley stone.

Aberyl led me to the much talked about narrow window with one vertical and one horizontal rung. The Daggerman hoisted me up so I could use the hydra blood. I took out a vial of water to activate the effects, and the wrought iron began to dissolve. I melted it in four places, and in two minutes at most, I removed the iron cross. There was no magic trap here; it was a simple, small window in the servants’ wing. Cautiously, I slipped inside and landed as quietly as a cat on a low table. From inside, I replaced the cross so that nobody would see that anyone had been there. That done, I pricked up my ears and squinted in the darkness. I was in a storeroom. Just as Korther had expected. Good. I breathed in and said to myself: quick.

Quick, but without mistakes, I corrected myself. And, impressed with my own coolness, I sat down on a chair and sprayed the picklock with that strange yellow stuff which Korther said would at least help me to neutralize many of the traps. I didn’t know where he had gotten it, but it must have cost him a fortune. Of course, the loot would make up for it. I went to the door and probed it. I could see no trap. I frowned, hesitating. I examined it more closely. Finally, I tried to turn the handle. It was open. Good.

Straight ahead to the back, I repeated to myself as I did what I thought. To the right. Straight ahead to the stairs that go up…

All was silent. A strange excitement came over me as I walked through a long, wide, deserted hallway. There were huge pictures hanging on the walls, and with every step, the soft carpet caressed my calloused feet. I felt like a stealthy cat who, for one night, crowned himself king of this place. And my power, my most precious weapon, was my discretion.

Suddenly, I saw a figure watching me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. It was a statue. Just a statue. Good mother.

The fright had made me forget the route, and I had to recite it to myself again from the beginning to continue. Left, straight ahead… The doors I passed through had no traps. That made sense: the most likely thing was that there were traps only on the front doors and on those that kept valuable things, like the treasure and the Solance.

I was just reaching the area that was already deep inside the Rock when I heard voices and desperately looked for a hiding place. I was still searching when I saw the light of a torch appear at the end of the corridor. I threw myself down and rolled under a bench. It wasn’t exactly the best hiding place, but… the hallway didn’t offer many options. As the voices got closer, I wrapped myself in harmonic shadows. I repeated to myself in panic: if they see me, I’m done for. If they see me, I’m done for.

They passed quickly and left the corridor in shadow again. Only afterwards, like an echo, did a piece of the conversation come to me. They had been talking about some factory that had exploded in the Canals quarter, and saying that “those evildoers” deserved to die like in the old days. And at the end, one of them had mentioned Miroki Fal. Had he really said “they’re getting married in the spring”? Was Miroki Fal really going to get married? It remained to be seen if it was with the beautiful elf Lesabeth, but… Well, in any case, the Nail-pincher was still alive. The only thing that prevented me from rejoicing at the news was to think that, if Miroki Fal had been there and had caught me under the bench at that moment, he would have immediately called the guards. Because, romantic or not, he was and always would be a nail-pincher.

I stretched my legs, came out of my hiding place, and hurried on with my task. I could already imagine Yal and Aberyl getting restless outside and wondering what stupid thing the little necromancer had done now… Well, none for now!

This almost ceased to be true when I touched the handle of a door to open it. It resisted. Locked. And with a trap, I noticed. I pulled out the picklock and hesitated. How well had Korther tested this neutralizing liquid? What if it didn’t work? After cursing myself several times for my indecision, I put the picklock away again, held out my mortic hand, and set about deactivating the trap the old-fashioned way. It was complex, devils, it really was. But it was similar to one of the ones I’d already deactivated during my lessons. Except that it was connected to something… something powerful that was monitoring it. The Solance, for sure.

Without giving myself time to feed my fears, I concentrated and finally deactivated the trap without altering the Solance’s link. I then forced the lock and entered what Korther called the “forbidden zone”. Puh, as if the rest of the Palace wasn’t too…

I continued on my way. I opened another door and came to what Korther called the “arch”, a semicircular corridor that surrounded the room of the treasure chambers. There were torches burning. I closed the door with a silent spell and listened. I heard a snore. I smiled: I couldn’t believe my luck. I walked along the right wall and saw an armed giant elf sitting on a chair and sleeping. I stepped a little further to make sure that there were no other guards in the hallway, and then I grabbed a third bottle, took out a handkerchief, and sprinkled it with satranin. This done, I crept up to the snorer and laid the handkerchief down gently, fearing to wake him. But he did not. A few moments later, I withdrew the handkerchief and bet that the guard would not wake up even if someone shouted “ayo!” in his ear. I smiled at him and went on my way.

I was almost there. I counted the doors, and came upon the one which I supposed must be the one which led to the stairs, to the gate, and finally to the Solance. I touched the door with my hand, and at once, I leaped back. The wood was charged with energy. It wasn’t just the locks; everything was covered in energy patterns. And, of course, these were connected to the Solance.

I bit my lips. This… Korther hadn’t planned this. But he’d warned me that I might be in for some surprises. ‘A good thief must know how to improvise,’ he had told me. Well, time to improvise, but I really didn’t know how to disable a trap that big.

I probed the locks, my eyes wide with despair. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do! At this rate, the crowing of the rooster would wake everyone up before I even entered the room. And then my comrades…

I stopped dead in my tracks. I had just come across a familiar tracing. Clinging to my little discovery, I forced myself to stop hesitating and to act. I realized that it was going to be impossible to deactivate such a spell: I had to undo it, to break it brutally, and to do that… I looked down and took out the yellow vial. If it really could neutralize the spells, it would come in extremely handy.

I finally decided to trust Korther, except I didn’t use his product exactly as he told me to. I neutralized the enchantment on the door by soaking it with the handkerchief, and as I did my cleaning work, I undid knots and more energy knots. I undid everything but the places that were connected to the Solance. And then I set about deactivating the links. There were four in all, one on each lock and one on the top of the door. I deactivated the first ones, but the last one… well, I couldn’t reach it. It was too high. With a grimace, without even hesitating, I walked over to the sleeping guard, knocked him out of his chair and brought it close to the door. Then, at last, I left a more or less harmless door. All that remained was for me to force the locks.

I forced one. I forced another. But the third one resisted, it didn’t want to open, it didn’t want to listen to me… I lost my patience, took out a new picklock, covered it very lightly with hydra blood, spat on it, and quickly introduced it into the hole. Bingo. A moment later, I opened the door and went down the stairs to the Chamber of the Solance. It was so close… And I could feel a powerful energy in that place. An energy that said to me, “Get out of here, demorjed!”. But I did not.

I advanced to the iron-barred gate, the last obstacle between me and the Solance. There was no doubt in my mind that it was the silver pyramid-shaped object on a pedestal. Magic glowed around the relic, and it even made a strange sound like the bong of the mine, only duller. Blasthell. Korther had not thought of that. If the Solance made that sound, it was a bit like go to steal a harmonica and then starting to play it while stealing it… But who cared as long as I had time to hand it to the Albino. Then let Frashluc throw it in the river if he felt like it.

I broke the iron-barred door with that blessed hydra blood and advanced into the room. It was circular. In the centre was the Solance; and around it, behind grates, the treasure vaults. There were four in all, and all were full of piled up wealth, white gold, colored jewels, magaras, objects of all kinds. It made one shudder just to look at all this and think: why? why lock up so much money?

“Nail-pincher,” I muttered.

I opened all the gates of the vaults as carefully as the door above, and without daring to enter. But I had to enter, because Korther wanted me to look for the White Opal. Well, great! And how did he want me to find it? Surely there were lots of opals in there, and diamonds, and… and… Thunders!

I breathed in deeply to calm myself, and with a feeling of entering the Underworld, I crossed the threshold of a vault. “Don’t touch anything,” Korther had said. Well, you see, big kap: it’s impossible not to touch anything. Everything was too crowded.

Well, what if I told him I’d looked everywhere and hadn’t found it. That was one possibility, much less terrifying than coming back without the Solance. The problem was… I too wanted to find that opal, mainly for Yabir, to show him that the legend was true. But no matter how much I searched the place, no matter how many perceptive spells I cast in the midst of all that wealth, I could find nothing.

Until suddenly I stumbled over a strangely colored rope, sprawled out, and knocked over a tapestry which covered the back of the vault where I was. But instead of a bare wall, it revealed a hole, and I found myself face to face with the jaws of a huge beast. It was a skeleton, fortunately. But what a skeleton!

I straightened up and held out a hand to its head in wonder. Of all the treasures here, this was the most extraordinary. Perhaps I thought that because I was a necromancer, I don’t know, but… damn! I had never seen a creature like this. It looked like a dragon. Except that it had no tail, I realized, when I had gone all the way around the beast. I kept touching it: its bones were brimming with morjas. I was overwhelmed with emotion. For sure, it was a ferilompard. It had to be! And if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter, my master was going to jump for joy when I… when…

Reality hit me like a bucket of ice water. I wasn’t in the valley, I wasn’t with Elassar: I was at the Palace of Estergat stealing the Solance. And I had to hurry.

I gave up the White Opal, stuffed my pockets with the smallest bones I could find, and gave an apologetic pout to the ferilompard, or… well, whatever that creature was. In Caeldric, I said:

“Sorry, friend. I’d take you to my master in one piece, but you’re really big. If you were smaller, I might even have made you walk and stuff. But you’re too big.”

I hugged its head, with tears in my eyes, kissed it, and whispered:

“Ayo.”

And turning my back on the skeleton, I made my way to the pedestal. The Solance was buzzing like a swarm of bees. Its buzzing was beginning to give me a headache. I stopped. The pedestal was high, and I had to climb it. I finally reached an edge, pulled myself up and sat down right next to the silver pyramid. I gazed at it with a mixture of fascination and awe. According to Korther’s theory, the relic would not react to my right hand. It would look for some trace of jaypu through the magara that enveloped my bones… and it would find only mortic energy. Well, that was the theory. In that moment, I wished I had known if it was dangerous to touch it, at all, with my skin or just by spitting on it.

But I had no time to experiment, so I did what Korther had told me to do: I touched the Solance with my right hand.

And I felt like hell was crashing down on me.

3 Farewell, days of hell

At first, I thought the relic was shooting me with electric shocks… but it wasn’t exactly that: it seemed to have simply mistaken me for an object and was trying to create… a bond with me. It took me a moment to realize this, and another moment to realize that the spells it was casting were destroying me. It wasn’t sucking my jaypu like vampiric foam: it was modulating my morjas. And not just my bones, but my skin, my muscles, my… everything. Absolutely everything. The Solance had gone like mad, trying to envelop me with its enchantment. As if I were a magara! I was a living being, devils! Yet the Solance did not know it.

I tried to move it on the pedestal. It was as heavy as a rock. Blasthell, even though it was no bigger than the palm of my hand! I gritted my teeth and pushed it with all my might. It did not move an inch. It was as if its own energy was keeping the relic chained to the pedestal. Great… I wasn’t going to be able to get it out of there by myself.

I let go of it. And, horrified, I realized that nothing changed. Solance was still attacking me, still altering me. I wanted to run away. But I couldn’t run away. Not without the Solance. I took out the small yellow bottle and emptied it all over the relic. The attack barely slowed down. Okay, then. I had only one option left: use the hydra blood. It could destroy the black steel. It could destroy everything. I hesitated, but knowing that the Solance was killing me little by little, I stopped doubting. Trembling, I took out the vial with the powder. I still had half of it left. I threw it all on the pyramid and emptied the bottle of water. The first thing I noticed was that the bright light of the Solance was fading, leaving me in the dark. The buzzing became shrill, and I covered my ears and screamed… A ball of energy threw me off the pedestal with a terrifying “BANG!”, and everything went black.

Followed a profound silence. I tried to get up, staggered, and collapsed again, saturated with energy. My morjas was all jumbled up. And my right hand no longer obeyed me. It was as if it were dead. And not only my hand: my whole arm was as good as dead. Gosh. I took out one of the bones of my ferilompard and sucked out the morjas. Strangely enough, it calmed me down and cleared my mind.

Blindly, I groped the ground and returned to the pedestal. I climbed up and reached out… only to find that the Solance was gone. I tried to cast a light spell, but my energy stem was already too consumed, and anyway, I reminded myself, no harmonic light could exist in complete darkness.

Staggering, as if in a dream, I groped my way up the stairs, climbed up, pushed open the door, and the light in the hallway finally confirmed that I had not gone blind. That would have become a bad habit. The guard was still there, snoozing soundly as before. At least that was something.

I took a torch from the wall, examined my right hand, and, satisfied that it was still whole, though useless, I rushed back downstairs with the intention of looking for Solance. I found it on the floor almost immediately. It was… in bad shape. In very bad shape.

I bent down and touched it with the point of a picklock. The pyramid now looked slumped, but it had not disintegrated completely. That was good news. I touched it with my right hand, but I could not feel anything through it, so finally I touched it with my left hand… and again I could feel nothing. Well, I did sense sparks of brulic energy with messy but harmless patterns. And nothing else. Was it bad? Were they going to scold me for it? No, why would they do that? Come on, Mor-eldal: move. You’ve got the relic, then get moving… I swallowed. I only wanted to get out of there as quick as possible.

I awkwardly wrapped the atrophied relic in my satranin-soaked handkerchief, put it in my pocket and initiated the retreat. I left the way open, as planned, exited the forbidden zone and headed for the back door of the north wing. It was the closest. But, overwhelmed by events, at one point I took a wrong turn, turned around several times, pulled my hair out, racking my brains, and… finally, I found the right door. I almost forgot to deactivate the traps. I slapped my forehead to clear my mind, because I still felt like I was in a cloud of energy. I opened the door… and closed it again without going through it, for I had just remembered that I had to signal through a window with a harmonic light. But I found myself unable to cast a spell. I was dry. Completely dry.

Finally, I opened the door, closed it, and went out into the cold. The truth is, I was glad to see that it was still dark. I could have sworn that days had passed, even years…

I saw a light out of the corner of my eye and threw myself on the grass. I crawled away from the Palace and came to some shrubs. I crouched down and scanned the shadows. Where were the Black Daggers? Blasthell, where were they? They had not gone away, had they?

Suddenly, I heard the rustling of leaves, and with my heart beating wildly, I whispered:

“Elassar… Elassar, are you there?”

I saw a figure emerge from a nearby shrub, and terror overcame me as I thought: that is not my cousin, the flies have taken him, and…

“Spirits, sari,” Yal called suddenly. “You forgot the signal. I was about to attack you. How did it go?”

“Er… Sm-Smoothly,” I replied. And I resumed in a firmer voice: “The way is clear. I have the Solance. But I don’t have the Op—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yal cut me off, patting my shoulder. “It’s good enough that you came back alive. So the way is completely clear? You’re an ace, sari. Come. We’ll let the others know.”

We walked away in the bushes. Yal soon outdistanced me: I was walking like a drunkard. That is why, before I even reached the meeting place, I saw at least ten masked figures with empty bags passing by me, ready to enter the Palace. Two of them tapped me on the shoulder and whispered:

“Good job.”

I was elated. I was exhausted, crippled, dizzy… but I was elated nonetheless. And while I was rejoicing in my success, I kept sucking the morjas out of one of the bones of the ferilompard to keep my mind off the fact that… my right hand looked like it was dead. Completely dead.

As the other thieves walked away towards the Palace, Yal leaned close to me.

“Well. Now all that remains is to ensure a safe exit for all of us… Hey. Are you feeling okay?” he then asked, as I staggered.

“Yes, yes,” I muttered. “I’m ragingly well. The only problem is my hand, it’s beastly stuffed. It’s because of the Solance. It left me like drugged. But fine. What time is it?”

“Two hours past,” Yal informed me to my astonishment. “Everything is going as planned.”

I couldn’t believe it. I huffed and puffed and said:

“Two hours past what day?”

There was a brief silence and a:

“Mmph.” Yal ruffled my hair, amused. “I think we’d better get moving.”

I followed him, faithful as a shadow, dazed as if I had been hit on the head by a rain of punches. At times we moved slowly, at others we had to run. And when we had to run, I felt as clumsy as a mole in a tree.

We returned to the wall, and there, after making sure that no one was in sight, Yal took out the rope and tied it around my waist.

“Hold on tight. When you get to the bottom, untie yourself quickly and cross the street.”

Despite my daze, I understood something that did not please me.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Oh,” Yal said, shaking his head. “My work isn’t done yet, sari. Yours is. And more than well. Korther asked me to tell you: congratulations. Ah. By the way. Just don’t brag about it to your friends, okay?”

I pretended to protest, but I accepted:

“It runs. Not a word.”

I guessed his smile.

“You better. Come on, this is no place to talk,” he encouraged me. “We’ll talk another day. You take care of yourself.”

We made sure that no patrols were passing along Harp Street, and Yal began to take me down. I glanced curiously at the sea of houses and lights. Estergat looked so different from above… like a sky full of orange stars.

I touched the ground and worked to untie the rope. The thing is, with one hand, it wasn’t easy. I tried to bend over to use my teeth and… hands grabbed me. I hiccupped in surprise.

“Quiet,” the Albino’s voice commanded me.

He helped me to untie the rope and dragged me out of the street of the wall before anyone saw us. I whispered:

“I have the Solance!”

“Shut up.”

He said nothing else to me until we were back in the same empty nail-pincher house as before. He took me down to a cellar, where there was an open trap door and two henchmen, both dark elves. The Albino finally stopped.

“Show it to me.”

I took out the handkerchief and handed it to him, but he would not take it. I smiled.

“It’s okay. It won’t bite. It’s not working.”

I showed it to him as I unfolded the handkerchief. The Albino had a skeptical look on his face, I’m not sure if it was because of what I said or because of the size of the relic.

“This… is the Solance? Really?”

I sensed something in his tone of voice that made me shudder.

“Natural that it is!” I asserted. “It’s a little different now, but I… uh… couldn’t help it. The important thing was to keep it away so it couldn’t activate the links, right? It’s just a little damaged…”

I choked at Jarvik’s frozen expression.

“A little damaged,” he repeated in a dry voice. “And how in the world did you get a relic into such a state?”

I swallowed hard. Should I say it? Should I not say it? I said it:

“I threw the vial of hydra blood on it.” Quick as a snake, the Albino grabbed me by the ear, and I shouted in protest, “It was vital, I swear, blasthell! I brought you the Solance like Frashluc told me to!”

“Quiet,” the Albino hissed.

I pressed my lips together, my eyes filled with tears. After the “congratulations,” and the “good work,” of the Black Daggers, here was this isturbag coming to take all the glory away from me! But why would Frashluc want the Solance intact? It would have been impossible to move it from there!

Under the politely interested gaze of the two dark elves, the Albino grabbed me by the neck and said:

“Get going and you can pray, gwak. Pray hard that Frashluc doesn’t let his dogs loose on you.”

He led me down the stairs by the neck. And we went down and down the stairs and through the tunnels. I was too depressed, too distressed, too unable to think two reasonable thoughts in a row to look around. I had failed. That was all I could think of at that moment. I had failed!

We came out into the open through a building, I’m not sure which one, and we walked down an alley… I’m not sure which one either. I recognized the place soon after we entered the small door of The Yellow Dragon.

Inside, the Albino spoke in a low voice to several people, he greeted some, and even looked calm. I remained invisible to all these people, and if it had not been for the strong hand which held me by the scruff of the neck like a dead rabbit by the ears, I might well have escaped, and I would have run to find my companions and say to them, “Let’s leg it, guys!”.

But the Albino gave me no such option. With the help of a nosy friend, he led me into a room, took the Solance, the knife, the picklocks, and the three empty vials from me, threw the rest into the room, making sure I had nothing else of value, and I, meanwhile, remained silent as a grave.

“What’s with all the bones?” the Albino’s friend inquired, curious.

I shrugged.

“To play jacks.”

He believed me. The Albino left, looking as if he had much to do, and the friend closed the door, put down the lantern, and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He was a white, blond, muscular human. And he was dressed like a fallen nail-pincher. He asked me:

“What’s your name, copper?”

Valleys humans were called coppers because of the color of their skin. It was supposed to be an insult. But it depended on who said it. My mate Lin used to call me copper all the time. However, just now… the tone offended me. Nevertheless, I answered:

“Draen.”

The blond man arched his eyebrows. He looked me up and down and asked:

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

I swallowed. I wasn’t sure if he knew about the Solance, so I lied:

“I bumped into something, and it’s numb now.”

He stepped back from the wall and approached with an interested pout:

“Really?”

He held out a hand. I stepped back. He moved forward. I stepped back. Until he touched my arm. First firmly, then gently. Except that I felt nothing at all, and the discovery horrified me almost as much as the blonde’s hungry eyes. I pushed him with my good hand with all my might. It was useless. He pressed me down and whispered to me:

“Don’t be stupid. I do that with all the gwaks I like, kid. I recruit them and sell them to those who share my tastes. Think about it. I know you have issues with Frashluc. If you satisfy me, I can help you. I’m his nephew, after all.”

I stopped struggling, exhausted. I just had to come across this isturbag when I was in bad shape, with a useless arm, and unable to do any kind of magic. I saw him smile. Now, yes, I could feel his hands. And I could feel his breath as he leaned closer and ordered me in a whisper:

“Don’t cry.”

I stirred weakly. Son of a dog, son of a dog, I repeated to myself inwardly. The blond man grumbled in an annoyed tone:

“You cry too much, you little gwak brat. Wipe that snout. You pig.”

He was stronger, but I could scream. I burst out:

“PIG YOURSELF AND YOUR DAMNED SOUL!”

The blond man’s eyes widened in disbelief. Without warning, he grabbed me by the neck with a strong hand and gave me a look full of contempt and sarcasm. I wanted to send him the greatest mortic discharge of my life… But I couldn’t even create it in my hand! I began to gasp for breath, and suddenly something inside me sparked. I think it was the overload of the Solance that was flaring up. Not surprising, since I was still charged with energy. The blond man pulled away abruptly, and a glint of fear passed through his eyes. He growled:

“I have no need for a whining gwak who shouts insults at respectable people. Rot in hell, copper wizard.”

I saw him open the door, and as he locked it, I drew in a breath of air, still horrified. After a long silence, I struck the wall with my good fist, picked up all the ferilompard bones, seized one, the largest, and sucked, sucked the morjas for a long moment, and then brought my hand to my Daglat pendant. Trembling, like a good devotee, I kissed the star, and in a whisper, I let out:

“May the ancestors and the Patron Saint curse you, nameless isturbag. May they curse Frashluc. The Albino. The nail-pinchers. Curse, curse, curse you,” I repeated fervently.

Rogan said that cursing the guilty always brought some consolation. But I only succeeded in killing time, and then, finally, feeling more dead than alive, I lay down on the pallet and fell into a restless sleep, still stuffed with energy. And fed up with everything.

When I woke up, I had come to the conclusion—I’m not sure whether in a dream or just when I woke up—that, since the isturbags wouldn’t leave me in peace, I wasn’t going to leave them in peace either. I had gotten into the Palace to steal the unstealable Jewel of Estergat, so what was attacking a handful of isturbags compared to that? I would be their worst nightmare, yes! I was going to take justice into my own hands, I was going to become the hero of the gwaks, they would sing my exploits, they would…

The door swung open, interrupting my spiritual momentum. And… Le Bor appeared. With Taka.

It was like seeing two stars in a completely dark sky. I got up and rushed towards them, shouting:

“Sir! Ma’am!”

Le Bor gave me one of those friendly pouts that looked fake but in reality weren’t. Taka hugged me and said:

“Kid! You look terrible! I’ve just left you for a few days, and there you are, as dirty as if you’d rolled around in the mud. Ah!” She shook her head, feigning displeasure. “Shyuli told me of your exploits last night… Honestly, you should never have done that! If I’d known it was so risky, I would have chained you up to keep you from going.”

“Everything went well, darling,” Le Bor interjected, amused.

“Thank goodness, yes!” the lady exclaimed. She buttoned up my coat as if I were a six-year-old brat while saying, “How are you? You know you’re rich now? Eight hundred and forty goldies! Come on, let’s go outside, your friends are waiting for you. Little Wolf, too.”

I breathed in, delighted, and was about to rush after the lady when Le Bor held me back.

“Just a minute. We’ll be right there, my queen,” he said. And as Taka walked away, he closed the door to the room and said to me, “I must admit you impressed me, Four-Hundred. Nail-pinchers are the laughing stock of the whole Cats. A total success.” He paused, and when I said nothing, he arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you happy?”

I nodded.

“Oh. Yes. Yes, I am. But I thought… I thought Frashluc wouldn’t.”

Le Bor looked at me in surprise, frowned, and seemed to understand.

“Ah. Natural. Because they locked you in here, right? That’s just regular procedure in the brotherhood. Don’t let it affect you. For your information, they’ve already locked me up twice. When they don’t want someone to leave, they lock them up. Security measures, they call them. Besides, Frashluc didn’t say he wasn’t happy. In fact, he didn’t say anything, so… you’re free, Four-Hundred.”

I breathed out, pensive.

“Is that true?” I swallowed. “Is it true they locked you in here?”

Le Bor huffed.

“Of. Once, because I started breaking everything in the tavern. A long time ago. Not long before I met my queen. And another time… I don’t remember. Brotherhood stuff.”

I stared at him and almost asked him: “Had a blond idiot come to see you too?” But I kept my mouth shut, because asking that seemed ridiculous. Le Bor would have punched that isturbag in the face and sent him to the other side of the Rock. I sighed and glanced at my right arm. I still couldn’t move it. I had begun to feel a slight tingling sensation… but other than that, it was as if my arm didn’t exist.

Noticing Le Bor’s scrutinizing gaze, I hastened to say:

“It’ll be all right. The arm, I mean. It’s better than yesterday.”

Le Bor grimaced.

“Hell. Those things are part of the job, I suppose. Ah, I wanted to give you this,” he added. He pulled a bottle from his pocket. It was the bottle he had taken from my older brother.

“The cure!” I exclaimed.

“Be careful not to drop it,” Le Bor replied. “There’s a gang looking for all the sokwatas to give them a dose. Your friends have already taken it. Apparently they spent quite a few hours with one foot in the grave, so I recommend you don’t take it until you’ve found a good shelter and cover.”

These last words calmed me down and darkened me a little too. I kept the bottle in my pocket and gave him a smiling, understanding pout.

“Are you leaving already?”

Le Bor nodded.

“Sure I am. You understand, the reason I escaped from Carnation was also because I knew some people were going to leave me holding the bag with the corpse. Just a figure of speech, not a real corpse,” he hastened to say. “Free trader, you know what I mean. Like our companion Crooked Foot.” We exchanged a smile, reminiscing about our time in prison. Le Bor’s smile twisted. “One of these mornings, I’ll get snaffled and sent to the mines. And I’d never do something like that to Taka. So we’re leaving. We might even join my friend the Raiwanese. I don’t know why, but, when the three of us are together, everything is always better.” He watched me for a few moments and concluded, “It’s inevitable, Four-Hundred.”

I nodded, accepting his decision. I had already accepted it the other night, anyway. Le Bor hesitated and said:

“Oi. I thought. If you want, you can come with us. With Little Wolf. But just you and Little Wolf.”

The proposal made my eyes widen. Me, go with Le Bor and Taka and leave the Rock?

“Good mother, do you mean it?” I gasped.

Le Bor smiled.

“No, man, it was a joke,” he replied. And he laughed. “Of course I mean it. You can stay here and become a famous thief. Or stay and live with that family of yours that you don’t know. Or… come live with me and Taka and become a smuggler, a lively pretender, and an expert card player. I’ll love you like a son. What do you say?”

For a moment, it seemed like a bright, wonderful, awesome future, but… there was a problem. I bit my lip.

“The Little Wolf and I. Just us?”

Le Bor cleared his throat. My hesitant tone had been too eloquent. We looked at each other, he shook his head, smiled, and ruffled my hair.

“I understand, kid. Comrades mean everything to a gwak, right?”

I shrugged, but nodded frankly.

“At least, to me. My cronies, and the Priest, and the others… And my cousin. Besides… I can’t go away from Estergat without talking with my brother. He must hate me to death.”

“Bah,” Le Bor said calmly. “He just took a little walk, asleep. As long as you don’t spill the beans on me…”

I rolled my eyes, and both good-humored and thoughtful, Le Bor put his hand on the door handle and observed:

“That’s the best, you’re right. Dragging a pest and a toddler with a bone doll would have worn my patience out in no time,” he joked. “By the way, those eight hundred and forty siatos, I’m going to leave them with Korther with the promise that he’ll give them to you bit by bit. So you won’t get robbed. How’s that?”

I nodded. There was an awkward silence, and then he opened the door, and we left the room together. I said, uneasy:

“Thanks for the offer, anyway. It made me happy.”

Le Bor shrugged his shoulders. And as we descended the stairs, I asked:

“Where are you going to go?”

Le Bor looked at me out of the corner of his eye with a crooked smile.

“Mm. I’ll tell you one thing, Four-Hundred: never tell the one who stays where you’re going. It brings bad luck.”

I looked surprised, but I believed him and did not insist. We crossed the tavern room, and I was already dying to see my companions and was ready to run between the tables when I sighted the figure of the last person I wanted to see that day. The blond isturbag. He was sitting at a table with some companions. He saw me. I stopped dead in my tracks. And Le Bor, who was a very perceptive man, frowned when he saw my expression, he followed the direction of my gaze, and his face turned to ice. He did not ask me anything. He only said to me:

“Wait for me outside.”

And he went straight to the isturbag. I would not have lost the scene even for eight hundred and forty siatos, and I stayed by the exit door while Le Bor took the last steps. The isturbag sat up in his chair, alarmed, and… Le Bor grunted something, picked him up by the collar of his coat, the customers looked up, curious, and… pow! The punch went towards the isturbag’s head. I laughed out loud. Good mother, he really did it! Le Bor left the man there, with a bloody nose, and he said in a serene voice:

“Excuse the ruckus.”

He zigzagged between the noisy tables and reached me with a calm gait, but his eyes were still flashing.

“That was great!” I said, and regaining my seriousness, I thought it was important to confess: “Ah. He didn’t really do anything to me. He ran away because I scared him.”

Le Bor arched an eyebrow, and after glancing at his defeated victim, shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter, the guy’s a bastard.”

There was no question about it. With a vindictive smile, I flipped the finger stylishly at the blond isturbag, and to the frown of a few clients, hurried out of the tavern behind Le Bor. Manras, Dil, Rogan, and Little Wolf were waiting for me outside, just as Taka had said. When I saw them, I almost literally burst with joy. I roared a:

“Comrades, ayo!”

And they welcomed me with open arms. I poked Dil’s head, cleaned Little Wolf’s nose, patted Manras on the shoulder, and stole Rogan’s hat. With all that done, the rest could wait, and I turned to Le Bor and Taka, knowing it was time to say goodbye. Taka hugged me and made me promise to take care of myself and not squander my small fortune.

“And no debts,” she warned me.

“Not even one!” I promised, and added, “Thank you for the advice. You are very kind, ma’am. I’d tell you a lucky prayer, but the Priest is better at those things, so… I want to give you something.”

Taka’s emerald eyes sparkled with emotion.

“A gift for me?”

I bit my lip.

“Well, yes. I know you don’t like bones, but…” I stuck my hand in my pocket and handed her one of the ferilompard bones. The prettiest one. I swallowed my saliva. “This is so you won’t forget me, ma’am.”

The beautiful lady accepted the gift with a trembling smile, and I even saw her take out her handkerchief to dry her tears.

With Le Bor, it was less expansive. We shook hands like buddies and, after exchanging a look that said “well, such is life, ayo,” he said to me:

“Don’t change, Four-Hundred.”

These words etched themselves into my mind, for my nakrus master had told me something very similar before I left the cave. Something like: never stop being yourself. It meant that Le Bor loved me as I was, Four-Hundred, a slightly impulsive but honest gwak. I inhaled, touched, and replied:

“You neither, sir dad.”

He raised a mocking eyebrow at the name, but he did not tease me out loud. In fact, I think my words actually moved him. And then an acquaintance of Le Bor came along, and they began to talk, and gradually, unconsciously, pushing, bantering, and joking, my comrades and I moved away into the Gray Square. A moment later, when I turned back to The Yellow Dragon and looked for Le Bor and Taka, I could not find them. This time for sure, I thought. This time for sure I was never going to see them again.

I shrugged, smiled, took out another ferilompard bone and handed it to Little Wolf:

“This is for you, demorjed. So that you can gorge yourself on morjas.”

The blond boy’s eyes glowed with emotion. He took the Master out from under his coat and compared it with the little bone, as if he were looking for a place to put it. He put it on his head, and I laughed.

“Master never wore a hat, shyur!” Then I thought it twice, tilting my head. “Blasthell, actually, it suits him quite well. We’ll hitch it to him,” I promised. And I turned to my companions. “Well, an urgent refuge, because I want to take the cure now. Did it hurt much?” Their eloquent grimaces did not bode well for me, but I was not alarmed. “Bah. Health is worth it, cronies!”

So they led me to the new shelter of Swift, in the Labyrinth. Before I arrived, I saw two familiar figures at the well, filling empty bottles. I raised a hand as I approached.

“Lin, how are you!”

The musician’s mate looked up and jumped, surprised.

“Sharpy! How are you!”

“Wind in the sails,” I said. And I explained, pointing to the bottle, “I’m going to the shelter to toast to health.”

“Gosh,” Lin said. “Well, it just so happens that others have just arrived with these same vials. Since Manras and Dil already took the cure and nothing happened to them, well, they’re going to take it now too. Go ahead if you want. Swift says he’s going to spend the night somewhere else because you’ll be screaming.”

I grimaced slightly apprehensively, but hurriedly followed the direction he had indicated, left my cronies, Rogan, and Little Wolf behind, and arrived at the shelter just as Damba, Venoms, and Diver were raising their flasks with solemn expressions.

“Wait, wait!” I exclaimed.

I glanced around. The hut was a simple alley full of junk, with a pile of laundry hanging on the upper floors and unknown gwaks and Cats of all sorts strolling about, killing time. My companions smiled and looked confused when they saw me.

“What’s going on, Sharpy?” Damba asked, concerned. “Don’t tell me they got the wrong medicine?”

I laughed.

“Thunders, no! The thing is, I’m coming with my bottle too. How about we all toast together?”

Diver smiled.

“Glad to see you again, shyur.” And, raising his bottle once more time, he pronounced: “Here’s to Swift’s gang.”

“And to Sharpy,” a forceful voice interjected behind me.

I turned my head and saw Swift leaning on a doorway with his staff in hand. The red-headed elf had found a new long, black cloak, and with his scarred face, the kap looked like something out of a tale of terror. Grinning from ear to ear, I uncorked the bottle with my teeth and cried out:

“Here’s to Swift and the gang!”

And we drank.

4 A fistful of goldies for an isturbagged kap

In Spirit Square, everyone was shouting, throwing stones, running away from the blows of the flies… I was singing.

No Toads and no Dogs
can pester our quarter.
Down with the nail-pinchers!
Hooray to the Cats!

Several people repeated, “Hooray, hooray, hooray!” A ball of “onion smoke”, as Manras called it, passed flying over my head. The smoke stung my eyes, filled them with tears, and half blinded me. I coughed. I got down from the cart where I had been perched, and seeing that staying there was getting more and more unbearable, I fled with others. As soon as I reached a more breathable spot, I joined the chorus, bellowing:

“Get out! Get out! Get out!”

It hadn’t even been a week since the decree was signed and barely two since the Solance robbery, and that morning they had already demolished the first house. If Frashluc’s purpose in robbing the Palace was really to deter the flies from entering his domains, he had failed completely. The flies were now everywhere.

“GET OUT!” I bellowed.

And I blinked. I could see nothing through the smoke. Suddenly, a Cat walked by me and shouted:

“We are surrounded! Run! We are surrounded!”

We ran. The flies were circling the streets, trying to catch us off guard. We came to the first crossroads just as they were coming… We rushed. Some of the older men, who were particularly angry, threw themselves at the guards. I, on the other hand, slipped away, threw a stone to do my part, and then I climbed narrow stairs while being pursued, turned into an alley, galloped like the wind, and, at last, I found myself back in the heart of the Labyrinth, safe and sound.

I took off the scarf in front of my face, coughed to clear my throat, held back from rubbing my eyes and sneezed with a:

“Atchiaw! Argh, good mother.”

One of the side effects of the onion smoke was that it filled your nose copiously. A real problem for me because it prevented me from singing normally, and the result was something as ridiculous as:

No Doads and no Dogs
gan besder our guarder.
Down with the nail-bingers!
Hooray do the gats!

Well, something like that. Whenever I breathed the smoke, my greatest contribution to the defense of the neighborhood fell apart.

I walked from alley to alley, rubbing my nose regularly. It was already four o’clock in the afternoon, and I hadn’t eaten a thing with the more than five hundred siatos I had left! Ha, I was grumbling at the nail-pinchers but… wasn’t I a damned bourgeois myself! I had given ten siatos to each member of the band so that they could buy warm clothes and boots. So now, except for some isturbag who had blown them isturbaggedly, all the gwaks of Swift’s had boots.

I kicked a broken bottle and was about to go on my way when an old lady shaking a sheet on the first floor called to me:

“Gwak! Have you heard anything about what’s going on in the square?”

Like a gentleman, I took off my cap and said:

“They got us surrounded, Grandma! Surely they must have pulled some of them up. But the heat is still raging hot!”

The old woman nodded.

“I see. Thanks, kid, don’t get caught!”

“No worries!” I said cheerfully.

And I resumed walking. Since the problem of demolition had arisen, there was a renewed brotherhood among the Cats of the lower part: they fought for their homes, most of them peacefully, simply refusing to leave, others were inflamed with speeches… Those who suffered most were those in the gangs: they fled from shelter to shelter, they scattered, they lost lots of money, and some were enraged to the point of pulling out the dagger. It was a real mess. All round, it must be said, we gwaks, in all this, did not play a great part, but, whenever we came across a good speaker, well, we felt like giving a hand on the front. Some gwaks had preferred to migrate to the upper part of the Cats, but the majority of us stayed in the Labyrinth, because, although it was precisely the place where the flies were doing their raids, we felt less exposed. They didn’t raid us, they raided the free traders—some of whom we worked for, true, but for the flies, catching guys with weapons or whole pots of dandepassion was more rewarding than coming into the police station with a bunch of shabby gwaks of questionable guilt. The vagrants poorhouse wouldn’t have been big enough to take them all in.

I sneezed again, and at last, I could breathe more normally. I stopped in the middle of a steep alley, spun around, climbed up on a rock, leaned on the edge of what was the base of the window or door, jumped down, and landed in Swift’s shelter. Having money, it would have been ridiculous to stay in the street with the mess there was and the cold. So we rented from the Lodger, a lady who was a member of a free trader’s gang or whatever. It wasn’t especially spacious for the twenty plus gwaks that we were, but truthfully, it was quite nice.

I moved forward into the room, avoiding my lying companions. Some were sick, others were sleeping because they had been up all night. I smiled when I saw Little Wolf. The little one was asleep, wrapped tightly in the blanket Rolg had given me.

“How’s it going, namesake,” Swift called out from a corner, and he motioned me to come closer. He was eating fish.

I crouched down beside him, trying not to look at the food too much. Swift added as he chewed:

“Tell me, shyur. Do me a favor. Go get me ten goldies. I need them tonight.”

My face darkened abruptly.

“Ten?”

It was already the third time he asked me for money in two weeks. Two siatos here, five siatos there, and now ten. Swift nodded.

“Ten. I really need it, namesake. I can’t explain. But if you don’t come up with the ten by six… it’s gonna suck. You get it?”

I shook my head.

“No, I don’t get it.”

Swift shoved my head, clicking his tongue.

“Don’t be stingy, namesake. Come on, get moving.”

I looked at him, annoyed. It was the kap, all right, but…

“Ten is too much,” I said. “I’ll get you three. Okay?”

Swift left the last of the bones on the ground and stood up, stick in hand.

“No, it’s not okay,” he replied. “I say you go and get me ten. If I ask you, it’s because I need it. I really do. If you don’t give them to me, I’ll call you a nail-pincher.”

I straightened up, looked up, and we looked at each other… and I made a defiant face.

“I ain’t no nail-pincher.”

Swift smiled and patted me on the shoulder.

“Then prove it. Move it, comrade.”

Swift could be a good guy, friendly, even brotherly, but, when I said he was a vulture, that’s because he was. Feh. Nail-pincher, your mother, I thought. And I jumped out of the shelter. Back on the street, I took out my black twig, chewed on it, and a delicious taste filled my mouth as I headed up the hill towards the Hostel.

I massaged my right arm as I moved forward. Incredibly enough, I could still feel a slight tingling. It had taken me at least five days to reanimate my hand, and it had taken that many days for the morjas modulated by the Solance to return to more or less its normal state. As a matter of fact, it had only been two days since my energy overload stopped waking me up. And I was happier than a blessed soul! Because not only was I whole again, but I wasn’t hurting anywhere: the alchemist’s remedy had taken me through a thousand hells, I had experienced death, nothingness, and then when I came out of my unconsciousness, it had been a liberation. I wasn’t sure what exactly the sokwata had done to us, but that medicine had cured it. I don’t know if completely, but we no longer needed to soothe our pain, because there was no pain anymore!

I wanted to go and find the alchemist gnome to at least tell him: so nice, thanks, I’m cured. But he should already know that. And if, on my way to find the gnome wherever he was, I came across Kakzail… he would lock me up for sure. I wanted to apologize, naturally, but without him getting his hands on me.

I left the Labyrinth and climbed into the streets of the upper part of the Cats. On the way, I saw a patrol of flies as they entered a house to search it. My eyes met the distrustful gaze of one of them, who had stayed outside… Nibbling on my black twig, I wrinkled my nose and quickened my pace. If in the other quarters the flies were kings, here they were clearly on the defensive. No wonder, for some of the Cats’ gangs were as well armed as they were.

“Ugh,” I blurted out suddenly. For crying out loud, Swift always got what he wanted. But maybe, this time, he really needed the money. From his expression, it looked like those ten goldies would pass through his hands very quickly. A debt, perhaps. But, if he hadn’t known that Sharpy would be there to bail him out, he wouldn’t have dropped the money, right? Isturbag.

I arrived at Bone Street, put the twig away, and scratching my head furiously, entered the dead end of the Hostel. I had not been there for four days. Last time, I’d even shared a cup of tea with Rolg, and we’d chatted a bit about everything. Well, it was mostly me who had been chatting. Sometimes, I wondered how the blasthell I managed to talk so much without saying much at all. It wasn’t like Yerris either. He talked about real facts; I said whatever came into my head. It was crazy. I’d have an idea and then I’d come up with something like, “Did you know that every time you yawn, a lizard loses its tail?” and I’d follow it up with some narrative full of “yes, because yada yada yada,” and then I’d be breathless, breathe in and move on. I think the cure had something to do with it, because now I was happy, so happy that I was showing it to the four winds.

I wiped my nose again and knocked on the door of the Hostel. I waited, fidgeting in the cold, until I noticed something very strange. The door was very slightly open. With a grimace of surprise I pushed it open and entered. The table was there, but the chairs and armchair were gone. The fireplace was clean. The picture with the village had vanished, replaced by a horseshoe… What was going on? I asked myself, confused. I pushed open the front door and went to look in the back hallway. Both rooms were empty. I ran up to Korther’s office and stood there speechless. It was empty! It seemed as if I had come to the wrong house! I went down to the cellar, where I had been locked up after my failed theft of the Wind Tear. All I found was a dead rat, some broken things, and no trace of the bags of clothes. But the chair with the two broken legs was there. I couldn’t believe it, yet the evidence was there: the Black Daggers had abandoned the Hostel and taken everything.

Spirits! Where did they go?

I returned to the front door and was about to go out when suddenly a black hand pushed the door open. I jumped up in fright and hid behind the door as it opened. Then a figure appeared with a face as black as night, with pointed ears and wearing simple but good clothes. The semi-gnome closed the door, gave a muffled cry when he saw me, and breathed out:

“Grah…! Good mother, you scared the wits out of me, shyur!”

I smiled up to my ears.

“Ayo, Black Cat. I’m glad to see you. Since I never saw you, I thought a dragon had swallowed you…”

Yerris laughed and gave me a friendly push.

“Lately I’ve been very busy. Korther asked me to go check if we forgot anything important in his office. How’s it going for you?” he asked as he headed down the back hallway.

“Fine!” I replied cheerfully as I followed him. “So, just like that, you guys moved out. Nobody told me.”

“I didn’t know it either till tonight,” Yerris confessed to me. “Ab came and told me: you’re going to be a porter tonight, boy. A. Real. Hell. I’ve got aches and pains all over. Here and here is the worst,” he said, showing me his back and neck. “I’m ground up. I wasn’t born to load furniture that weighs a ton. But, as I am in purgatory, as the Devil says, I must bend my back. Guess what, Alvon came here last night, to talk with the Devil. He greeted me like that, even smiling and all, and I was dying with this mahogany buffet in my hands. He didn’t lift a finger to help me. I’m telling you, my mentor’s a slacker! He came for the Palace’s reward and he got the hell out of the Rock this morning. By the way, I haven’t congratulated you yet. Ab told me what you did. Tell me,” he added as we reached the office. “Do you see anything between the boards in the floor? Korther says something may have slipped.”

We searched while Yerris continued:

“I have something incredible to tell you. I don’t know if you remember that night Sla sent me to the devil for drinking the alchemist’s first cure.”

“She was pissed,” I nodded, smiling.

“Pissed like crazy,” Yerris laughed. “And with good reason. Well, the thing is… I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s awesome. Now, Sla’s mom almost killed me, but… you’re not gonna believe this.”

Intrigued by his broad white smile, I encouraged him:

“Spit it out, comrade.”

Yerris stood up, waved his hand, and finally managed to say:

“I’m going to be a father.”

I was stunned. Seeing my reaction, Yerris burst out laughing.

“Isn’t it wonderful?”

Wonderful? Yes, it was, but frankly, I never thought that a comrade could ever be a father! Yerris’ pure joy erased my confusion, and I smiled, rejoicing in turn.

“Good mother, that’s great!” I said. That was the only thing that came to mind.

“It’s the best thing that could have happened,” Yerris admitted, excitedly. “Because Sla’s mother would never, ever let her marry me. And, just like that, she was forced to agree!”

He continued to talk, explaining his plans for the future, saying that with the Devil’s missions, they would earn lots of siatos, that the child would want for nothing… He sounded like a serious and responsible adult. Except that, in reality, he wasn’t even sixteen yet. I smiled as I listened to him. When we found nothing in the office, we went out of the hostel and walked through the streets, as in the old days: the semi-gnome talked and talked, and I listened. He didn’t turn round and walk backwards any more, or hardly at all, but apart from that he was the same as before. At one point, shortly after we had briefly talked about what was going on in the lower part of the Cats, I asked him:

“Did Sla take the cure?”

Yerris darkened and nodded.

“The alchemist made her a special one. It was hard, but, in the end, everything worked out fine.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“You spoke with the alchemist? So you know where he is?”

Yerris winced and glanced around before clearing his throat:

“Yes. But it’s supposed to be secret. If others find out, they might try to take it away. Apparently, some people have already tried.”

I swallowed. Gosh, someone had tried to kidnap the alchemist again? I shook my head.

“I’m not tattling. Where is he?”

Yerris hesitated.

“Why do you want to know? You’re cured now, right?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I am. I don’t know, it was just to say ayo.”

Yerris rolled his eyes, and as he said nothing else, I did not insist and asked:

“Where is the Hostel now?”

Yerris smiled.

“For the moment, nowhere.” And, as I looked at him, bewildered, he added, “But, if you want, I’ll take you to the Devil. You wanted to see him to ask him for silver, weren’t you?”

I snorted and corrected:

“Gold.”

Yerris frowned.

“Heavy debts?”

I let out a sigh as we entered Tarmil’s neighborhood, and again corrected:

“Heavy mates.”

Yerris laughed.

“I see. You got into Swift’s gang, didn’t you? That guy—”

“No, no, I’m stopping you here!” I interrupted, holding up a hand. “I know very well what Swift is like and what my companions are like. But, it’s okay, Black Cat. It’s okay.”

Yerris looked at me with a mixture of amusement and concern. For a few moments, we were silent. We went up the stairs towards Atuerzo. Finally, the Black Cat said:

“You can’t be rich and share. Nail-pinchers know that.”

I let out an indignant gasp.

“I ain’t no nail-pincher. To hell with the nail-pinchers. They piss me off with their treasures. And Frashluc is the worst, because he says he’s not a nail-pincher, but he’s ragingly so. I’m not. It runs?”

My unyielding tone drew a surprised smile from Yerris. He nodded, amused:

“It runs, shyur. Do as you please. Throw the goldies at your gang. If it makes you happy.”

I sighed and did not reply. Silently, I promised myself that, once I had given the ten goldies to Swift, I would say to him: “It’s over, not one more, this money is Little Wolf’s, not mine”. It was not a lie. Those eight hundred and forty siatos had belonged to Coldpalm, and they were, in fact, for Little Wolf. Not for me, nor for Swift. For Little Wolf.

Korther’s house was ironically located near the Court of Justice. It had a small garden and large bay windows decorated with pretty white bars. I had just seen it when Yerris leaned close to my ear and murmured:

“Another nail-pincher, eh? But at least this one is on the backs of those upstairs and not downstairs,” he qualified.

I shrugged, and he led me along a little path behind, bordered by high hedges. We went into the garden without anyone seeing us, and the Black Cat whispered to me:

“Knock on the door over there. They’ll open it for you. Tell the devil I found nothing in the office. I’ve got to get out of here. I’m glad I talked to you, shyur,” he said frankly, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Try to grow up a little, you look like a gnome.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Look who’s talking.”

The semi-gnome smiled broadly.

“Ayo.”

“Ayo, dad,” I teased. “Give my regards to your lady.”

My friend raised his eyebrows mockingly several times then disappeared behind the hedges. After making sure that the garden was well protected from the view of passers-by, I approached the door. The house was completely white and on one level.

I knocked on the door—which was white, of course—and peered curiously out of the adjoining window. Through the curtains, I could see a comfortable sitting room lit by the evening light. Six o’clock had just struck. And I had not yet eaten anything!

I took out my black twig and nibbled on it as I listened for footsteps. I heard none, but I heard the door open. Then a little girl appeared in a pretty white dress, and we stood there for a moment. We looked into each other’s eyes. The half elf had beautiful brown eyes. Finally, a casual smile stretched my lips, I took the stick out of my mouth and said:

“Ayo, Zenira. I’m looking for your father.”

The girl made an apologetic pout.

“He’s not here. I know you, right?”

“Sure,” I confirmed. “We met one day when you were reciting your geography.”

And then Zenira seemed to remember. She smiled.

“Of course. You work for my father. You said you didn’t know much about geography either.”

“Uh… yeah,” I coughed and inquired, “Did you get a good grade?”

Zenira nodded.

“The next best grade after my best friend’s.”

We stood there looking at each other. And then she asked curiously:

“What’s that?”

She pointed to my black twig. I gasped in disbelief.

“You don’t know what it is?”

Zenira shook her head, and for some reason, I lied:

“It’s licorice.”

“Licorice!” she cried. “I love licorice. But… this one, it doesn’t look like the usual twigs,” she observed. “Can I taste it?”

I grimaced and put the twig in my mouth, mumbling:

“Good mother, no. I have a sore throat. And you pass it on others if you pass the twigs.”

“Liar,” Zenira replied.

And as she looked less friendly, I hastened to confess:

“Well. Dead round. But the thing is, it’s not really licorice. I called it that to call it a way. But this is rodaria root.” From her expression, I understood that she didn’t know what rodaria root was. I explained, “Gwak stuff. Like smograss, but a little better. Hey, do you know when your dad is coming back?” I continued.

Zenira’s lips tightened in displeasure. Just then, there was the sound of a key in the lock, and the half elf turned abruptly.

“That’s my father!” she whispered.

And instead of letting me pass, she shut the door in my face. I was somewhat puzzled. I heard voices inside. Did Korther have guests? Damn. That didn’t help my case. Holding back the urge to knock again, I turned and… let out a groan of terror.

In front of me, blocking my way out through the small garden, stood the mist hellhound on all four legs. Dakis looked at me, cocked his head to one side… and lunged at me.

5 The Power of the Orb

Quick as the wind, I opened the door, entered, and tried to close it. To no avail: the snout of the hellhound got stuck between the doorframe and the door, which flew open. I was thrown flat on the floor, and a moment later, the hellhound was lying on me, literally! I could hear his loud breath. His weight barely let me breathe, and I was not exactly serene, so I was suffocating.

“What the hell is he doing here?” a disbelieving voice called out. Korther’s.

And another one said:

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! It’s him! Shokinori, he’s the one who has it! He has the opal!”

They fell silent. I pushed upwards to try to breathe. I took a gulp of air and fell back. Korther commented:

“If that’s true, honestly, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with him.”

Suddenly, Dakis moved a little, just a little, but he let me breathe more normally. Looking up from the ground, I finally saw the people present. Before me were Shokinori’s bare feet, Yabir’s, Korther’s shiny shoes, and Zenira’s white slippers. The expressions were very varied. Shokinori had a focused expression and was holding the Purple Orb in his hand. Zenira was covering her mouth—Was that deviless smiling? Yabir’s eyes glowed. Korther’s eyes were flashing.

“May we know who told you I live here?” the latter threw at me sharply.

I swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” I gasped. And, under his impatient gaze, I explained, “The Black Cat sent me to say that he found nothing in the office.”

I tried to escape the weight of the hellhound again, but it would not let go. The mere thought of the beast standing over me made me dizzy.

Korther’s shiny shoes approached.

“According to Yabir, the White Opal’s link points you out. Any explanation perhaps?”

I shook my head, confused.

“None, sir.”

Why the blasthell would the link to the White Opal point at me?

“If someone will make the hellhound move away, maybe we can make sure he has it or not,” Korther suggested with forced patience.

Shokinori nodded, and Dakis moved as if reluctantly. When he stepped aside, my tremors became evident. Korther laid a hand on my shoulder.

“Stay still.”

He searched me. He took out the knife, the twenty or so nails I had, a pretty little stone I had found by the Timid River, a piece of old string… When he took out the black twig, he glanced at me, sighed, and shook his head.

“Unless it’s that stone… which I doubt, he has no White Opal, gentlemen.”

Finally, he moved aside, and I managed to sit down. My eyes went straight to the hellhound. He flared his nostrils. I flared mine. Yabir insisted:

“The Orb makes it clear that it is… right there!” he enthused. “It’s never been that obvious before.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s so obvious, though,” Korther replied. “That boy was searched after his job was done. He hasn’t stolen anything from the rooms. And he has nothing in his pockets.” He paused, let out a sigh, and turned to me again. “Kid, take off your boots.”

I looked at him as if to say, “I’m not hiding anything!”, but I obeyed. I took off my boots. Korther pushed them aside, glanced questioningly at the hobbits. Yabir had retrieved the Orb. He shook his head and pointed at me as if he were pointing at the culprit:

“It’s still there.”

“Maybe he ate it,” Shokinori mused.

My eyes widened in horror.

“I have no opal!” I protested. “Blasthell, I swear it! Blasthell,” I repeated, looking at them in turn, alarmed.

There was a brief silence. Then, giving vent to my instincts, I sprang to my feet, ready to run from there… and Dakis threw me down again.

“May the devils pop you off!” I exclaimed.

This time, I was on my back, and a stream of drool splashed on my face. Once again, my eyes were filled with squirrels, stars, and faces of my nakrus master, and they blocked it all out. The warm liquid on my skin was not saliva: it was blood… No! It was the water of the valley fountain, in summer…

“Dear, go to your room,” Korther said suddenly. “Please. Listen to your father.”

There was a rustle of footsteps as Zenira reluctantly walked away. After another silence, Yabir whispered in Caeldric:

“I’m sure of it, Shok. Really.” And he added in Drionsan for Korther, “I can’t explain it either, my friend. But… that’s what the Orb says. Excuse me, but… do you mind?”

“Go ahead and search him,” Korther replied. “His pockets are empty, his cap is a very ordinary cap, his coat is just a common coat—so, as Shokinori says, unless he swallowed it and it got stuck somewhere, I don’t see where it could be.”

The more they mentioned that I had swallowed the White Opal, the more I was convinced that they were going to kill me, they were going to dissect me like those corpses that the Raiwanese and Le Bor took out of the graveyards to sell to the doctors, they were going to gut me.

A part of my mind was telling me: No! Yabir would never do that, he is a scholar, you have heard him tell incredible stories, he even put you in a chronicle, he can’t hurt you, it’s impossible!

But another part of my mind was also telling me: I am a gwak, a damned, worthless gwak, what do they care about me? A grain of sand, dust, ash!

Again Dakis stepped aside. I rolled to the floor and leapt to my feet, trying to undo the harmonies that were preventing me from seeing reality clearly. I stumbled blindly, a hand grabbed me, and I reacted violently, I threw a mortic discharge. I think I did so because I saw a metallic glint appear in my field of vision, like that of a knife. Except that when I looked more closely, I saw no knife. I did, however, see Korther’s demonic eyes. They were even redder than usual, and on his face were the black marks of the demons, about to reveal themselves completely… At his murderous expression, I had no doubt that I had sent the shock to him. And as he struggled to control himself, the Black Dagger kap grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the wall, not caring that the elegant lamp on a piece of furniture had just broken into a thousand pieces on the floor. I felt a strange energy just where the demon’s hand was holding me, half choking me. I had never seen him so angry. He couldn’t even speak. Suddenly, I heard a hostile growl. It was Dakis. Korther let go of me, and without turning his back on the hobbits, he regained control of his energy, his eyes turned pinker, and he said in an icy voice:

“Did you touch anything in the vaults?”

It took me a few seconds to understand his question, for I rather expected him to butcher me: his eyes expressed that desire with clarity. I opened my mouth and, with a broken voice, breathed out:

“No, sir. I mean, I did…”

I received a slap. Dakis growled again, displeased. Hell, who would have thought that the wolf would be on my side now! Korther shook me.

“What did you take?”

“N-nothing,” I stammered. “I didn’t take anything.”

Korther pulled my head up by the hair and hissed:

“If you’re lying to me, lad, I’ll tie you up and sell you to the Tassians. I want the truth.”

“Sir!” I gasped.

That was all I could say. The next moment, Dakis was pouncing on Korther. He didn’t lie on top of him, but he pushed him away from me and sat on his hind legs, turning his back to me and looking the demon in the eye with a clearly threatening look.

“Good mother,” I muttered, dumbfounded.

“By Baïra!” Yabir exclaimed, rushing forward. “I am very sorry, Mr. Ixtar. Dakis cannot stand violence…”

While the young hobbit apologized, I dropped to the ground in exhaustion and examined my foot. I had cut myself with several pieces of glass from the lamp. I removed them as best I could, and was thinking that this was the best time to get away, when suddenly, I saw that the hellhound had turned towards me. We looked at each other, he with curiosity, I with bated breath. Then, to my amazement, Dakis brought his huge snout to my injured foot and licked it. I knew that saliva helped to heal. So I stood still and murmured a:

“Thank you, Dakis.”

The great quadruped wagged its tail, and I saw Shokinori behind it rolling his eyes. The hobbit warrior had once told me that he communicated with the hellhound telepathically. I wondered what they had said to each other now. Korther replied to Yabir:

“It’s nothing. It’s that rascal that’s driving me crazy. Excuse me, please. I need… a glass of water.”

I saw him walk away to the other room and close the door behind him without a word. Yabir looked worried. Shokinori approached me, careful not to step on the glass.

“Come on, get up. Let’s fix this. I always carry a first-aid kit,” he assured in Caeldric, patting his bulging pockets.

We sat on a sofa there, and he disinfected and bandaged my foot. Meanwhile, Yabir fiddled with the Purple Orb, walking it over me and muttering:

“Too close. It’s impossible to know. But it’s there. No doubt about it, it’s there. Are you sure you didn’t take anything, kid?”

“Quite sure,” I said.

And then a thought came to me, but no, that couldn’t be it. It was ridiculous. Yabir frowned as he passed the orb over my neck.

“May I?” he asked.

I took off my scarf, revealing my collars. Yabir huffed.

“What’s all that mess? You look like Shokinori.”

Shokinori clicked his tongue. Yet Yabir was telling the truth: the hobbit warrior, like me, was wearing a good collection of necklaces. I had five in all: the Daglat’s star, the family pendant, Rogan’s shell necklace, the ferilompard’s bone necklace—I’d made one for Little Wolf too—and the little one’s blue gem. Yabir was interested in the latter.

“Can I have a closer look?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“As you wish, but do not touch it.”

I brought it to his eyes, and Yabir examined it with great interest. After a silence, he asked:

“Did you have it the last time we saw each other, too?”

I nodded. And Yabir shook his head.

“Then it can’t be that.” He paused. “Are you wearing something you weren’t wearing last time?”

I hesitated, and as Yabir looked at me intently, I nodded.

“Yes. But it’s not an opal.”

“What is it?” Yabir urged.

Without saying a word, I dropped the blue gem and picked up the bone necklace. Yabir frowned and examined them one by one. He shook his head, looking more and more astonished.

“Bones?”

I jerked back as I felt Yabir cast a perceptive spell and took the bones from his hands.

“They’re not yours!” I protested.

“You took them out of the Palace?” Shokinori replied in a low voice.

The hobbits kept their eyes on me. I looked embarrassed and nodded.

“But please don’t tell Korther,” I muttered in Caeldric. “He’s already mad at me. He told me not to touch anything. But, that’s because it was… a ferilompard.”

The two hobbits looked at each other, eyebrows furrowed.

“A ferilompard,” Yabir repeated.

And then, perhaps remembering the conversation he had watched between Coldpalm and me, he seemed to understand, he blinked, he turned back to Shokinori, and suddenly, he burst out laughing.

I looked at him, surprised. And why was he laughing now? Good mother, here I was with my injured foot, Korther in a room perhaps planning my murder, and this hobbit was laughing at my ferilompard!

And there must have been a brejic conversation because Shokinori seemed to understand too, and he smiled thoughtfully.

“It might be,” he admitted.

Yabir was still laughing quietly when he went to sit in a chair. He commented in Caeldric:

“It’s quite a coincidence that there was a real treasure next to it. But, of course, one of those skeletons must be worth a fortune even to those who… don’t play with its morjas. It’s no wonder they kept it there. And that’s why the Purple Orb is so unstable: because there are bones everywhere, but not all bones are as powerful. It’s so obvious! Why didn’t my father think of that? Marevor Helith gave up the relic when he repented, so as not to fall into temptation again. It had to have something to do with necromancy! The White Opal doesn’t exist: it’s bones. Bones!”

There was a silence during which I looked at them, bewildered. Then the door to the room opened, and Korther appeared. He looked calmer.

“Sorry for the interruption,” the kap said. “Did you find out anything?”

“Indeed, we did!” Yabir exclaimed, rising to his feet. “The Purple Orb has stopped signaling the boy. It seems to have gone mad. And I with it, I confess. Sorry, boy.”

He gave me an apologetic pout. I was getting more and more confused. Just as I was beginning to understand his theory that the White Opal didn’t exist, he told Korther that the Purple Orb didn’t signal me anymore? Well, actually, it wasn’t signaling me, but the necklace of bones. Bones that I had stolen from the Palace when I was only supposed to steal the Solance. Then I understood. The hobbits were covering up my mistake and, in the process, concealing the power of the Purple Orb. Very discreetly, Shokinori winked at me. Yabir concluded:

“I’m afraid that, in the end, the White Opal is nothing more than a legend. Seeing the Purple Orb functioning in such an erratic manner saddens me, but… things are what they are. This story has already gone too far. I believe, Mr. Ixtar, that the time has come to consider taking that secret passage and returning to Yadibia. As we agreed, I will escort you to my own city whenever you wish. I only hope you will not delay too long, because, you understand, the longing for our land is—how do you say it in Drionsan—strong?”

Korther ran a hand over his face, greatly surprised.

“Uh… Yeah, why not. I mean…”

He looked at the three of us with a keen eye. Then he said:

“So our deal still stands even without that opal?”

“Absolutely,” Yabir asserted. “Estergat has wonders impossible to find in Yadibia. I’m sure that, if we reopen the tunnels, the journey will be reduced to a few days and any merchant from Estergat will be more than welcome in my city.”

“Merchants won’t be precisely cheap or very legal, I’m afraid,” Korther smiled.

Yabir smiled in turn.

“Nor will those who go the other way. I assure you that in the Underground, there is much wealth. But also much danger,” he added in a mysterious voice.

Korther cleared his throat and looked satisfied.

“I must admit that I am delighted at the prospect. So I’ll take care of the ammunition matter and…I’ll let you know when we can get underway. I only ask, as always, for discretion.”

Yabir bowed deeply.

“I shall be discretion itself, Mr. Ixtar. They say in my hometown…” He took an inspired look, hesitated, struggling to translate the saying, and glanced at me as he said in Caeldric, “The barbarian rants and destroys, the wise man is silent and builds.”

I translated more or less into Drionsan, and Korther said:

“Your prudence does you credit.”

They exchanged a few more words in an unmistakably friendly tone. I stopped listening to them. I was putting my thoughts in order. Well, it runs, the Purple Orb had only one opal, the black one, and Marevor Helith had used the Purple Orb to search for morjas-laden bones and thus raise his undead… It runs. I understood that. And I also understood that, somehow, Korther was going to help the hobbits return home through tunnels they were going to make with “ammunition”. Okay. And, the good thing was that Korther didn’t know about the stolen bones, so I didn’t run the risk of having them taken away. Great. The only risk was that he’d pop me off for throwing him a mortic shock. And that wasn’t so great.

I buttoned my coat, examined the bandage around my foot, put on my boots, pouted, and shrugged. It didn’t hurt too much. I got up, gathered my things, and was about to slip out, taking advantage of the fact that no one was paying attention to me, when I ran into Dakis. I bit my lip and, with great caution—and great bravery—I reached out with my left hand to the beast’s snout. I stroked it. His fur was black. I saw him wagging his tail, and I smiled. I withdrew my hand.

“I’m legging it and quick,” I whispered.

No sooner had I taken a limping step towards the back door than I heard Korther’s voice say:

“By no means, lad. You’re staying here until I’m done with you.”

That didn’t bode well, but when Dakis gave a dull growl, I assured him in a low voice:

“It’s all right.”

Anyway, originally, I had come there to ask for ten siatos. So I waited patiently. Yabir and Shokinori finally bowed to Korther, who escorted them to the exit, and I waved to the hellhound, who I suddenly found quite friendly. As Korther went outside, deep in conversation with Yabir, I saw a small face appear in a corridor. It was Zenira. When she saw me, she was speechless. Finally, she came forward, looked at the pieces of glass on the floor, and asked:

“Is it true you had an opal?”

I rolled my eyes.

“No. They’ve got it all wrong.”

Zenira bit her lip, glanced toward the front door, and inquired:

“Where do you live?”

I arched my eyebrows, but answered without hesitation:

“In the Labyrinth.”

Zenira crossed her arms and stopped a few steps away from me.

“And where do you go to school?”

I snorted, laughing.

“At the Labyrinth’s school, natural. What about you?”

Zenira frowned, as if wondering if I was making fun of her. She replied:

“To the Elms. You know it?”

“Natural. I spent a night there a long time ago,” I replied.

Zenira opened her eyes wide. Then I had an idea.

“Say, can you write?” I saw her nod, looking surprised, and said, “Could you write a letter for me?”

Zenira huffed.

“Can’t you write yourself?”

“Yes, yes, natural I can,” I replied with dignity. “But it’s important that the letter be readable. And, like… my signs are very disjointed. A master told me so. So, will you do it? It would be only ten words or so. I’ll pay you a goldy,” I added as I saw her hesitate.

Zenira looked at me, bewildered.

“A goldy? How much is that?”

I laughed at her ignorance.

“A siato, shyurine. A goldy is a siato. So, is that okay?”

Suddenly, the door opened, and Zenira whispered quickly:

“Tomorrow is Sacredday. Wait for me the day after tomorrow at the Elms at half-past four.”

I smiled.

“In the afternoon, I suppose.”

Zenira answered me only with an eloquent gasp, and by the time Korther came out of the vestibule and into the dining room, the half elf, quick as a squirrel, had disappeared into her room. Korther’s expression darkened when he saw me. Standing by a wall, I bowed my head and whispered:

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to do it. It just went off. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t even know it was you. I swear.”

Korther said nothing. He took out a broom, made a heap of the pieces of glass, lit a lantern, and finally asked:

“Can you kill with it?”

I blinked under his impassive gaze. I pouted, indicating that I did not know. He didn’t seem to like my answer. He sighed.

“Well… sometimes I wonder if you’re making fun of me, lad.”

I shook my head, dazed.

“No, sir. I swear I’m not.”

Korther looked at me skeptically. And he made a vague gesture.

“Feh. The sooner you disappear, the better. Did you come to get your siatos? Well, I’ll give them all to you and let you take care of them. I don’t want you to ever come back here again. Never, you understand? I’ll send for you if I have a job for you. Follow me.”

I wasn’t particularly happy about the idea of him giving me the five hundred and some siatos left, but I didn’t dare protest. I followed him to a desk. There were no objects there like the ones in the Hostel’s office. In fact, the decor was totally different. Everything was much cleaner and more airy.

Korther made a gesture for me to stay on the threshold, he walked around his table, bent down, opened what must have been the safe, and after placing a pile of white coins on the table, he closed it.

“Twenty-seven crowns and three siatos,” he said at last. He pushed my money across the table. “All for you, lad. Try not to spend it like a fool.”

I nodded, biting my cheek, and proceeded to put the money in my pockets, knowing full well that to go out into the street like that was imprudent. I left five crowns on the table, the equivalent of a hundred siatos, and explained:

“It’s for the Black Cat and for Sla. Can you give it to them?”

Korther cleared his throat patiently.

“I’ll give it to them when I see them. Anything else?”

I shook my head.

“No, sir.”

The kap looked thoughtful.

“If you’d learn not to make one blunder after another, lad, it would be a big step. You did very well on the last job. Try not to ruin the effect, huh? And now get out of here before you give me another reason to hang you by the ears. Get out of here and don’t come back, all right?”

I swallowed, nodded, and went off the way I had come. It was only when I closed the back door that I thought about Korther’s words and smiled. He had paid me a compliment! He had not said that I had done well at the Palace. He had said I had done very well! Good mother, well of course I had done very well. Everything had gone perfectly. Because I was Mor-eldal, the great Black Dagger, the relic thief. And the bone thief.

I walked through the little garden smiling from ear to ear. The Great Temple rang at seven o’clock in the evening. And to think that Swift had told me to come back with the ten siatos at six o’clock… Well, never mind, let him wait. I wasn’t going to let him push me around on top of it.

I left the hedge-lined path, left Atuerzo behind me, and walked through the streets of Tarmil. I didn’t dare walk very fast, let alone trot, because the coins would have made even more noise. And, besides, because of my foot, I was limping.

Despite my lame leg, I did not return to the Labyrinth. I had come to the conclusion that I needed to hide those crowns in a safe place. And, of course, when I was looking for a safe place, the only one that immediately came to mind was the Crypt. It was going to be a good two hours of walking and limping, but it was worth it. And to hell with Swift’s impatience.

The only problem was that to get to the Crypt I had to cross the river. Night had already fallen completely when I arrived at the Astrania Bridge, near the Evening Park. I leaned against a tree, spied the place, and took advantage of the moment when a large group of people were crossing the bridge to cross it without the guard in his sentry box giving us more than a weary look. I passed through the warehouses, the factories, the abandoned fields near the mines, up the Ravines, and into the forest.

I hadn’t been to the Crypt for a long time, and the forest was so different in winter, with the bare trees, that I wasn’t sure I was going the right way. I was looking for the big tree where I had already spent the night twice that year. The problem was that tonight there was no Gem, no Moon, no Candle, and I had only the stars to guide me. But I could do something about that, I thought. I cast a spell of harmonic light and smiled. Celmists called them “illusions”, “deceptive magic”, but they weren’t: harmonies were the best. As long as you kept them under control, of course.

I don’t know how long I wandered between the trunks before I thought I was going too far and turned back. My limping was getting worse, and after a while, when I couldn’t find the tree, I called myself a demorjed for having gone so far and not trusting the gang. But, at the same time, who in their right mind would have trusted that gwaks would respect four hundred and forty-three siatos? The Patron Saint maybe, but not me. And, blasthell, they were my comrades, natural, but one had to be realistic.

Finally, I decided to choose a tree closer to the edge, above the Ravines. I climbed several trunks in search of a hollow, for I did not want to bury the coins, it would be seen, and I knew that there were people who ventured into the Fal forest at night to look for wood. It had to be a good hiding place. I found it, in the hollow of a tree. I pulled out a handful of cobwebs. Perfect. I put everything there but two crowns and three siatos, which I hid in my boots and cap. I climbed down, looked for several landmarks, and nodded, satisfied. I gave the blessed trunk a pat.

“Ayo, tree. Keep the whitewheels for me.”

I took a detour, picked up a sturdy stick, and limped back to Estergat, thinking that, even so, if a fly came to stop and search me, I would go straight to Carnation. No ordinary gwak walked around with forty-three siatos in his pockets. I was going to have to change the whitewheels for goldies, and the traders would certainly take a good commission. I rolled my eyes. I had never thought so much about money before I became a nail-pincher.

I came back over the same bridge, and when I arrived at the Labyrinth, I was exhausted, worn out, completely beat. I dragged my wounded foot as I made my way through the alleys, helped by my stick. At that hour, the honest Cats were still awake, and the lights in the windows dimly lit my way. I arrived at the shelter without having passed a single fly patrol. I squinted. One good thing was that by taking the cure my eyesight had not worsened, so that we old sokwatas could still see better than anyone else. That’s how I recognized Swift and Syrdio.

“Ayo, comrades!” I said.

“Look who’s coming here!” Swift grumbled. “It’s nearly midnight, isturbag. What the blasthell were you doing?”

I cast a spell of harmonic light and grimaced. Swift had a black eye, and Syrdio had his sleeve rolled up and his arm bandaged. A storm had passed by, and I had missed it. Not to mention that I could have avoided it. But then I would have lost all the money.

I leaned on the stick. Perhaps because he saw that I was in a bad state, the kap did not throw himself at me to vent his frustration. I cleared my throat.

“Well, they sure did a number on you.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Who did you fight with?”

Swift huffed.

“Some isturbags. You bring the goldies?”

“No, I bring a whitewheel,” I replied. There was a silence. And I observed, “It’s yours, but you don’t ask me for more, because I won’t give you any more.”

Swift gave a grunt.

“Cough it up, namesake.”

I leaned against a wall, took the boot off the wounded foot and gave him the coin. As soon as I gave it to him, Swift said:

“What took you so long to come back?”

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I’m limping.”

“Yeah, that I can see, but seven hours to get to the Black Dagger and back just doesn’t cut it, shyur. Where did you go?” the elf insisted.

“And what does it matter?” I retorted in a biting tone. “I couldn’t get back before, what do you want, it’s not my fault if you get yourself in trouble—”

“Hey, hey, hey! You don’t talk to me in that tone, namesake,” Swift warned. “I didn’t get myself into trouble. It’s Diver.”

My eyes widened.

“Diver?”

“Yes. They did a dirty trick on him,” he explained, lowering his voice. “Sometimes Nat’s a genius. But other times, he goofs beastly. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” I admitted. “What did he do?”

Swift stirred nervously, glanced towards the shelter, and lowered his voice even more.

“He’s snoozing at the moment. Apparently…”

Syrdio shoved him.

“Good mother, what are you going to tell him!” he hissed.

Swift clicked his tongue in irritation.

“It’s my namesake, and I tell him what I want. Move over.”

Syrdio gave a muffled groan, but moved away a few paces. Swift muttered an imprecation, and resumed in a whisper:

“Apparently, some thieves tried to recruit Diver. Or rather, the opposite. You know Nat’s got a serious addiction to karuja, and the Frashluc people don’t give it to him for free. So he needs money. Anyway, the story went wrong. When they told him what they were going to steal and how they were going to do it, Diver chickened out. Instead of doing it right at the beginning, you know, he backed out at the end. And without him, the bludgers couldn’t get in. So he completely screwed up their plan. And now, well, he’s ashamed, like he popped somebody off. They ask him for money, and he says he’s gonna throw himself in the ravine, that he’s desperate. He says he’s just a coward and blah blah blah… Syrdio and I tried to get these ideas out of his head, but the only thing that worked was the bottle of radrasia, I put it in his mouth, and he wouldn’t let it go. Now he’s sleeping, I tell you, and for a long time.”

The story left a bitter taste in my mouth. I was exhausted, but it suddenly revived me.

“Good grief. He didn’t tell me,” I muttered.

“Diver doesn’t tell anyone much,” Swift snorted. “He confessed it to Syrdio because he found him hiccupping in a corner. Like I tell you, he’s half drowned. It’s really sad to see him like that. You’re a good mate of his too, Sharpy. If you got any ideas on how to cheer him up, well, you know…”

I nodded, still shocked.

“Natural,” I whispered.

There was silence. And then Swift added:

“Where have you been?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Gosh, you’re a pain. The Black Daggers’ shelter changed and I had to look for it. That’s all.”

Swift took hold of my staff and compared it to his.

“That’s all, huh?” he scoffed. “Well, you see. Sticks like that, you can only find them in the Crypt, shyur.”

I made an annoyed pout.

“So what? What’s the big deal? I like trees.”

Swift laughed softly and shook me fraternally, taking me by the shoulder.

“I knew it. I know you well, namesake. So, this kap gave you everything, huh. Say, if anything should happen to you, it’d be a shame for the money to stay buried.”

His suggestion irritated me.

“This money isn’t yours, Swift. It’s for Little Wolf and only for Little Wolf.”

“Well,” the elf agreed, “But we might as well enjoy it, rather than the flies, right?”

I grunted, and leaning my good foot on the rock near the entrance, I slid awkwardly over the edge. Once seated astride, I turned to the kap, who was leaning against the wall, mockingly, and I said:

“Say, namesake, is there anything left to bite?”

“Well, no, but, if you want, give me some nails, and I’ll get you something,” the kap offered. “I can change the whitewheel for goldies while I’m at it.”

I arched an eyebrow. That the kap should offer to buy me food was a surprise. I cheered up.

“Well,” I agreed, and gave him fifteen nails for a whole loaf.

Swift took two steps away, but suddenly came back as if remembering something.

“By the way, Sharpy, there’s something I didn’t tell you. You’ll be happy to hear that, since you kept bugging him about it. It’s Rogan. He got right into the fight when those isturbags came. I told him this time: Hey, Priest, last time I ask, but if I told you you were one of the gang, would you say it runs? And you know what he said to me?”

My heart beat with hope and emotion.

“What did he say?”

Swift laughed.

“Well, that it runs! That guy’s a weirdo… but, that’s precisely why he fits well in the gang.”

He patted me on the shoulder and set off with Syrdio at a brisk pace. Soon both of their figures disappeared between the shadows of the night.

I shook my head, smiling, and looked up at the starry sky. I hadn’t done much for quite a few days now: I didn’t steal, I didn’t beg, I didn’t even bother to go out of the Cats much except to say ayo to my working comrades, to Yum and some other acquaintance. But what I did do every day was go to listen to the stories of Breaky-Hand in the afternoon in Wool Square, and I dined at The Drawer every night—I was glad to hear that the tavern-keeper Sham had been released from Carnation for lack of evidence! The rest of the day, I was having fun goofing around with my companions, and I liked to throw wise phrases at Little Wolf like my nakrus master had done with me. In the end, during these two weeks, I had done exactly what I wanted to do. And I had ragingly taken a liking to it. And I didn’t understand why Diver insisted on taking karuja when it was ruining him. Tomorrow, I’ll take him to play the fool with us, I promised myself. I’ll buy him a finger-licking good snack at The Ballerinas, and I’ll buy him some rodaria root to calm his nerves, and I won’t let him get away with making slugboneries. Like hell I was going to let those merchants play with a comrade’s life! Never.

And so, determined, I closed my eyes and waited for dinner, while in the distance the midnight bells chimed.

6 Elms wimps are no Cats

“On the grass, scaluftard, or you’ll come a cropper!” Diver shouted to Manras.

The little dark elf took a run-up, leapt up, leaned against the wall with his boots, did a somersault, and landed with his legs bent… He lost his balance and sprawled in the mud.

I laughed loudly, but congratulated him:

“Well done! You’re starting to get the hang of it, shyur!”

And I ran, but I did not bother to go over the grass. I leapt like a cat, grabbed the abandoned beam, pulled myself up, and sat on the crumbling wall overlooking the steep rocks of the Timid River.

From there, one could see the slope of the Cats in its whole, the houses of the Black Quarter, and the wonderful chaos of the Labyrinth. Although it was still the second Youngday of the Moon of Darkness, it was a beautiful day, the sky was blue, a warm breeze from the south was blowing, and it almost felt like spring.

Diver jumped back, and although his jump was not as elegant as mine, he reached the top of the wall and sat down, looking at our companions with a small smile.

“Come on, take off your hat and jump, Priest!” he said.

Amused, I saw Rogan, below, make a gesture of refusal and retort:

“Bye, friends, I’m gonna go serve the Patron!”

“The patron?” Diver repeated, confused, turning to me.

“He goes to pray on the avenue,” I explained. “He says if he doesn’t do it every day, then he loses his touch. He’s a priest at heart.”

We huffed, laughing, as Rogan trotted away. We continued to encourage our companions. As responsible as usual, Dil sat on the rocks with Possu, Little Mouse, and Little Wolf. The others tried hard to join us, and Manras, as my faithful follower, tried harder than anyone else. And his efforts were rewarded: he finally reached the beam, and I helped him to sit astride the wall. There were already quite a few of us on top of the wall when I heard a bell ring.

“Gosh!” I exclaimed. “Half past three. I’ve got to run.”

“Where?” the little dark elf asked.

“To school, seeing a girl,” I said and smiled at the various expressions of my companions. “Oh, relax, I barely know her. I’m going to dictate a letter to her for my brother, the fly. I have to tell him something, you know, but it’s better in writing.”

That they understood quite well. Having a brother fly was not easy. I got ready and jumped. I landed rolling on the grass, leapt to my feet, and… when I saw Manras follow me and fall headlong, I froze. I rushed forward.

“Manras, Manras!” we all shouted.

He did not move at once, and for a moment, we feared the worst. Then the little elf sat up, massaging his head. As soon as I saw that he was alive and well, I gave him a smack.

“You’re a total isturbag!” I growled. “I can do it, but you can’t!”

Manras had managed not to cry out in pain, but at my lecture, his eyes filled with tears. He flinched when he saw me move my hand forward again, but this time, I did not hit him, I put a hand close to his, on his head, and concentrated. He had broken something. A thousand times isturbag. I sat him down there, said “don’t move” in a dry tone, and injected him with morjas to speed up the healing process, not only of the bones, but also of the rest. When I finished, I said:

“You’re going to have a bump so big you’ll remember it for a long time, shyur. Next time, try to think a little before you act.”

How many times had my nakrus master told me the same thing in the valley! But that, of course, I did not tell Manras. I rubbed my eyes. This type of spell was exhausting.

“Did you do magic?” a voice suddenly asked.

I looked up and noticed that my comrades had made a circle and were watching me curiously. I was not sure who had asked the question.

“Are you a magician for real?” the little Possu asked.

I shrugged, slightly embarrassed, and stood up.

“A little. I know a few things, but I don’t raise the dead,” I assured, rubbing my neck. And I added, “Dil, can you take him to the shelter? Okay, fine. Well, let him stay put and take some radrasia,” I said, sounding like an expert healer. “Well, I have to go, mates. Ayo. Ayo, isturbag,” I greeted Manras, giving him a light pat. The little elf answered me with a contrite pout.

I picked up my cap, lost among the others, put it on, and walked away. I had not even reached the top of the hill when I heard someone call out, “Little Wolf!”. I stopped and saw Diver running towards me. He was much more cheerful than the day before. Since he had paid the thieves the ten goldies, he had calmed down, we had fed him radrasia for the rest of the day, and then we had given him rodaria sticks, and Diver, like the other sokwatas of the band, had promised to stop taking karuja once and for all. Except none of us really believed him.

Far ahead of Diver, came Little Wolf. I looked at the little one, surprised, as he ran towards me on his little legs.

“Where are you going, Little Wolf!” I laughed.

The Little Wolf fell down, got up all muddy, and finally arrived near me just as Diver joined us.

“You want me to take care of him?” he offered. “Since you’re going to see that girl…”

I smiled and almost agreed, but then I had another idea.

“Let’s go together! The letter thing won’t last long. And, like that, I introduce you to her. And then I’ll invite you to the Golden Baths. It’s in Riskel. Have you ever been there? No, well, neither have I. My cousin said he went there once, and it was ragingly good. Plus, Taka said I should wash up regularly. What do you say, comrade, huh, what do you say? I’m inviting you,” I said, jumping up and down.

Diver hesitated, and then smiled broadly.

“It runs.”

“Well, off we go then!” I cried cheerfully.

We set off, followed by Little Wolf. My injured foot was almost completely healed, and it no longer hurt. Diver asked:

“Is she pretty? The girl, I mean.”

I laughed.

“Natural, she is!”

Diver gave me a mocking pout.

“And you told her?”

I opened my eyes wide in confusion.

“Pff… Nah, I didn’t. You don’t say stuff like that out loud.”

Suddenly, Diver laughed loudly, and I looked at him, puzzled, and rubbed my cheek. Still laughing, he gave me a slap and exclaimed:

“You don’t say stuff like that out loud, he says! Well, of course you can say it, isturbag. How do you expect the girl to know that you think she’s pretty if you don’t tell her? You hammer us with your songs every day and you don’t know that?”

I remained thoughtful, gave my hand to Little Wolf, and after a silence, I asked:

“Do you have a lady?”

Diver huffed, amused.

“I don’t. But I know about that stuff. These guys I work with…or used to work with,” he corrected with a grimace, “they kept talking about women. So, I know a lot about that.”

And as I looked at him curiously, he began to explain things about dating, smiles, “chivalry”, and flowers. When we got to the big staircase that went up to the Stone Park and Atuerzo, he was explaining things about male poses that made the ladies sigh. As for me, instead of making me sigh, they made me laugh in disbelief.

As we entered Atuerzo, we passed under the watchful eyes of two flies. We walked towards the temple which was right next to Elms School, not far, in fact, from the house of Frashluc—just thinking about it made me feel nervous. This temple had a clock almost as big as the one in the Great Temple. It read quarter past four. Zenira would be out in no time, so we decided to wait at the end of the street where the main school gate was. We were both chewing our black twigs with relish, leaning against the gate of the temple, when the bells rang at half past four. Then I looked up, put my twig away, and stretched my neck towards the gate, impatient.

The first students soon appeared. They were running out, shouting, free at last. Zenira arrived earlier than I expected and saw me sooner than I thought she would. She pointed to me and pulled a companion by the arm before walking towards me, her bag on her back, and wearing a pretty blue dress. I smiled. She hadn’t forgotten our date.

“Is that her?” Diver asked.

I nodded. I was about to move forward when I suddenly recognized Zenira’s companion and let out a dying breath. So this was the “best friend” who had surpassed her in geography…

“Oh, no, good mother…” I complained. And I turned my back to the two nail-pinchers. “Good mother, good mother, good mother, Diver!”

“What’s going on?” this one gasped, alarmed.

“What’s going on! What’s going on is that the one who’s coming with her is Frashluc’s grandson,” I let out through my teeth.

Diver made a stunned pout. His eyes sparkled.

“Are you on bad terms with him?”

I shrugged, thought about it, and said to myself: well, actually, I wasn’t. Frashluc had asked me not to speak to his grandson on pain of death, but that was before the theft of the Solance…

“Hello?” came a voice behind me, sounding surprised. “You came for the letter, right?”

I took a deep breath and turned around. Zenira looked like she was thinking, “That guy, what a weirdo”. Lowen looked at me with a wide smile. He exclaimed:

“Draen! I thought we’d never meet again. I saw you at the Capitol one day. I didn’t get to go say hi, because I was with my mom, but… Well, I’m glad to see you again.”

The little nail-pincher kept showing me smiling teeth. I sighed to calm myself.

“Ayo, Lowen. Ayo, Zenira. Uh… If you don’t mind, let’s make this quick.”

Zenira arched an eyebrow and nodded. She pointed to the temple steps.

“Let’s go sit over there. We’ll be more comfortable.”

“It runs,” I agreed.

And for some reason, I pulled up my scarf and covered my face. Before I could move away, Diver held me back and whispered in my ear:

“Tell her, let’s see what kind of face she makes.”

I blinked. Tell her… tell her what? Oh, I realized then. Feeling my face flush, I didn’t answer and followed Zenira and Lowen to the stoop. The half elf was already taking out a sheet.

“Who is your friend?” she asked.

Diver stepped forward, introducing himself enthusiastically:

“I’m Nat!”

He was so eager that it seemed he was going to add something, but then he fell silent. Zenira smiled at him, and her brown eyes fell on Little Wolf, who was clinging to my trousers.

“What about this one?”

“Little Wolf,” I introduced him, ruffling his blond hair. “The wolfcub of the bunch.”

“He’s adorable,” Zenira smiled. She pulled out the inkwell, the quill, and gave me a questioning look. “What should I write?”

I bit my lip. I’d already given it some thought, but… with Lowen and Diver present, I was getting a little nervous. Still, I didn’t dare tell them to get the hell out either.

“Well,” I finally said. “Write down: Ayo, big brother. Thanks for the remedy. Now, I’m going wind in the sails and… say that I’m sorry.”

Zenira half-suppressed a smile as she wrote. She frowned and looked up.

“That you’re sorry?”

“Yes. Say that I’m very sorry. That, and add the ‘very’. It’s important.”

Zenira nodded, wrote, and held her pen in suspense.

“And that’s it?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, nervously. No, that wasn’t all, I would have liked to say much more, but I wanted to get it over with quickly.

Zenira looked disappointed.

“Well, how do I sign?”

“Oh.” I frowned and finally said, “Ashig. Sign: Ashig.” And, casually, I added, “You can also add: written by a beautiful shyurine.”

Zenira opened her eyes wide, and I looked at her as if to say, “What’s wrong? Did I say something weird?” But deep down, I didn’t know where to put myself. Diver, that isturbag, chuckled slightly… A tumult of voices came to my rescue.

The four of us turned curiously, and I could see a group of students coming out of the school gate, dragging a fellow student, shoving him about, shaking him. Before they pushed him into a dead end near the temple, I had time to see a very familiar face. Samfen’s face. My thirteen-year-old brother who was studying in this very school. And the worst thing was that Samfen was the very one the others were bullying.

“Thunders and bolts!” I muttered.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I rushed over, went to check, and weaved my way through the noisy students. The insults rained down: midget, copper, dummy, loser, poor devil! Some were reciting the blue streak like a refrain, as if they were used to doing it. Samfen—that was him—was enduring the downpour, his face impenetrable. He did absolutely nothing. The scene broke my heart, it indignantly revolted me, and… made me very, very angry.

The verbal onslaught did not last long, but long enough to give me time to pounce on the one who looked most offensive and most vile: a dark elf dressed as a perfect nail-pincher. My intervention immediately drew exclamations of amazement.

I punched the dark elf in the face, left him bleeding from the nose, landed next to my brother, pulled out my knife, and growled:

“You dare insult my brother again and I’ll cut your filthy mouths with knives, you demorjed!”

The students had run off and were shouting in fear:

“He’s got a knife! He’s got a knife!”

The bleeding dark elf soon followed them when he saw that I was watching him: he stood up and legged it, stumbling away. Within seconds, the dead end was empty of students. I let out a scornful gasp.

“Wimps.”

I turned to my brother. He was staring at me with his mouth agape. I cleared my throat, and lowering my scarf to expose my face, I gave him a half-smile.

“Ayo. You should have told me they were bothering you. With the Cats, it’s different, but with these guys, you just pull out your blade and they all run away!” I laughed.

“Sharpy!” Diver cried out. My companion entered the dead end at full speed, with Little Wolf in his arms. “The flies are coming. Leg it!”

I nodded and put my scarf back on.

“’kay. Hey. Do me a favor, brother. Give that goldy to the half elf you see over there, take the letter she wrote to me and give it to Kakzail. You owe me that. Ayo!”

And I ran off without having heard a single word from Samfen’s mouth. Perhaps he was a little shocked. I was too, but for other reasons. In reality, I thought, it would have been easier to ask Samfen for the letter service and not Zenira, natural, but there was a reason for everything, and Samfen… Well, Samfen was not Zenira. She was not a beautiful shyurine.

We had already reached a busy street in Tarmil when I burst out laughing and pulled my scarf down.

“Beautiful shyurine!” I pronounced with pride. “Hey, comrade, I did pretty good, huh?”

Diver rolled his eyes and put Little Wolf down, huffing.

“Not too bad,” he admitted. He glanced around and added, “But the rest though… that was risky. The Cats are the Cats, and Atuerzo is Atuerzo. Sure the flies are still looking for us. We should split up.”

I sighed.

“Yeah, but what about the baths?”

Diver shook his head in disbelief.

“Snap out of it, shyur. Come to think of it, didn’t you say that money belongs to Little Wolf? Don’t waste it with nail-pincher habits. See you,” he said.

I stood at the foot of a lamppost, puzzled, as Nat disappeared into the crowd. Gosh, was I dreaming or had he just indirectly called me a nail-pincher? Mmph. I looked around for Little Wolf, and saw him hugging the lamppost, circling it and licking it as if it had been a huge bone—I pulled him by the scruff of the neck.

“Let’s go.”

I took my bearings, crossed the street, went down it, and suddenly saw Samfen stretching his neck and looking around as if he were searching for something. I arched an eyebrow, and after making sure that there were no flies in sight, I approached, dragging Little Wolf.

“Are you looking for me, brother?” I asked.

Samfen turned suddenly and let out all the air from his lungs.

“Ashig! How could you do such a thing?”

I blinked.

“Uh… what are you talking about?”

Samfen rolled his eyes and instead of answering, he asked:

“Can we talk? I mean… without you running off after two seconds.”

I huffed as I heard that, but the idea of talking with Samfen excited me. I had found him friendly from the start. So I agreed:

“It runs. Let’s talk. What do you want to talk about? Wait, let me buy you a drink, and we’ll sit down like gentlemen. How’s that?”

Samfen gave me a curious look, but nodded.

“Okay. But not in the Cats.”

I laughed.

“Hell, no. We’ll go wherever you want.”

Samfen then hesitated and pointed in a direction.

“This way.”

As we set off, I realized that Samfen did not know where to go. Finally, he chose a tavern at random and told me:

“I’ve never been in here before.”

“Well, all the more reason to go in, then,” I smiled.

And we went in. The interior was rather quiet, for it was not yet the time for revellers. We approached the counter, and I bellowed:

“Two glasses of heavenly radrasia, Mr. Tavern-keeper!”

I blundered to my heart’s content: it was a lady. She looked at me with a hawkish face and replied:

“Out, you rascals!”

Samfen tried to make things right, but it was impossible. A few seconds later, we were outside. I gave my brother a pout of incomprehension.

“She even had a mustache and everything, how could I have guessed!”

Samfen could not help but laugh heartily. Finally, we entered another tavern near Tarmil Avenue, and my brother said:

“This time let me order.”

I looked at him as if to say, “Yes, yes, I’ll leave it to you”. I gave him two ten-nails, played dumb like Little Wolf, and went to sit at a table with him. My brother arrived after a while with two glasses. I examined mine curiously. It was orange in color.

“What’s this?” I asked as my brother gave me back the eight nails he had left.

“Uh… orange juice,” Samfen replied. “You don’t like it?”

I smiled broadly and nodded.

“Natural I do. Here, Little Wolf, try it. Don’t panic, it’s not carrot. Thunders! You’ve got a thing against everything that’s orange, gwak. Come on, lap the gatter.”

I made him take a sip, and then, when I saw that he was not being picky, I drank the rest. It did me a world of good. I said:

“Well, then? Do these isturbags bother you often?”

Samfen had not yet touched his glass. His face darkened at the question.

“Don’t worry about it. Bah. It’s the Elms,” he explained under my watchful eye. “At Passage School, everything was fine. I don’t know why Mother got it into her head that I have to study and become an architect.”

I whistled, impressed.

“Architect!” I paused. “And what is that?”

Samfen smiled.

“Well… an architect makes diagrams, calculations, plans, things like that, and then the workers build the buildings he says.”

“Blasthell. And you don’t want to?” I asked.

Samfen took a sip and shook his head.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I have terrible grades. What I really want is to become a mosaicist. That is, a ceramist.”

He was smiling, as if he found it funny to share his dream with me. I looked at him curiously.

“And what does a ceramist do?”

“Oh… Well, he makes plates, vases, tiles, beautiful and useful things.” My brother made a vague gesture. “You see the mosaics they have in the Grand Gallery? Well, that’s the kind of thing I want to make.”

I smiled, imagining Samfen decorating all of Estergat with colored stones.

“And you’d do this kind of thing in the Cat Quarter, too?” I asked, excitedly. “It’d look great in my quarter. Some people draw pictures to color it, but others always come and ruin it. The other day, a friend of mine, well, actually the one you saw before, Diver, you know, he painted a whole bunch of cats on a wall in Spirit Square, and I added ‘out with the flies’, you know, because of the whole thing that’s going on down there at the moment. I know those signs by heart, from drawing them. I do it with my left hand, because my right hand is still cramping, but not as much as before; before, it was bestial. Well, as I was saying, about the graffiti, well, the next day, a fly came and erased it all with a diabolical product. After all the trouble Diver went to in drawing it! It was really beautiful! And that isturbag, in a few minutes, paf, ayo forever, cats. Well, but if they’re mo… mossics made by a ceramist, they won’t dare remove them, will they? And even less if you use that famous blue stone from the Valley that they used in the Palace. That would be so classy. And, this way, maybe they won’t even tear down the houses!”

I laughed, reached out, took my brother’s glass, took a sip, and gave it back to him, adding:

“Don’tcha think?”

Samfen merely shook his head, half-amused and half-amazed.

“Well… I don’t know. Say, can I ask you a question?”

His serious tone intrigued me, and I calmed down.

“Natural,” I said.

Samfen hesitated and seemed to think before he said:

“That day those guys that caught Hishiwa and me… in the ruined house… were they friends of yours? I mean…people died, you know? Are you still with that gang?”

I nodded.

“Natural! They are comrades of mine, bosom friends,” I assured, hitting my chest. “Honest gwaks. Swift only lets in honest gwaks.”

Samfen arched a trembling eyebrow.

“Uh… Does that mean you’re not delinquents?”

I laughed under my breath.

“That means we’re Cats of our word! The kap says it’s important. That it’s what makes us different from the Braggart, for example. That cove is an isturbag, a real first class isturbag. It’s a pity that his two youngest companions died and that he’s not the one who popped off… that night, you know, you were there with Hishiwa. I even heard that one of them was popped off by Braggart because he tried to run away instead of fighting with us, that freaking devil. Now he’s warned us that, if he catches us in his domain, he won’t ask questions: he’ll pull out his knife and bleed us. But we’re not afraid. He, on the other hand, doesn’t have the guts to enter the Labyrinth,” I said, triumphantly, banging the table.

I saw Samfen swallow. He was glancing nervously around the tavern, as if he was afraid someone would hear me. Well, what did it matter if they heard me? Talking wasn’t forbidden, and besides, there were no flies. And if there were, I’d run away and that was that.

“Okay…” my brother finally whispered. “And I… Well. I was wondering… well, anyway. Mother says you’re a… thief.” He spoke the word so low that I could only guess it from his lips. He cleared his throat. “Is that true?”

I didn’t know what to say. I shrugged my shoulders, as if to say: what if I am? I could also have told him that lately I didn’t need to steal, but then that would have been an admission that not only did I steal, but that I wasn’t content with committing petty theft.

“Bah,” I said at last. “How is the family? How’s the schoolmaster? And the glassmaker, Skrindwar? Has he recovered well?”

Samfen bit his lips at the sudden change of subject. Without losing his serious expression, he assured:

“He’s fine. In the end, it wasn’t a big deal. Everyone’s fine.”

He finished the juice and stood up, picking up his school bag.

“I have to go. From six o’clock, I must help in the shop. I’ll give the letter to Kakzail. If you want me to tell him anything else…”

I shook my head. Samfen hesitated.

“By the way, Ashig. Thanks for earlier, for trying to defend me. Normally it should be the other way around,” he smiled, and his smile twisted into a dark grimace. “I want you to understand. Pulling a knife is not right. You shouldn’t do it. It’s good for bullies. I know you meant well, but… now, they’re all going to look at me even more strangely. You don’t solve things that way.”

I gave him a look of incomprehension.

“And how are you supposed to solve them then? By shutting up? That’s when you can’t do anything else. But, against wimps, the best thing is to scare them,” I assured. “A siato that they don’t bother you anymore, you bet?”

Samfen rolled his eyes.

“I ain’t got a fivenail, so I’m a long way from being able to bet a siato,” he replied.

“Well,” I reflected, “well, if I win, after class, you come with me for a few hours, wherever I want. If I lose, I’ll give you five goldies.”

Samfen’s eyes widened in astonishment, and I saw him whisper: “Five?” In spite of everything, he seemed to be about to say no, but then he answered decisively:

“If you lose, you throw the knife away.”

I looked at him, my eyes squinted, with that face which Le Bor made when he wanted to impress. Then I smiled and stood up, holding out a hand.

“It runs.”

Samfen hesitated, shook my hand, and informed:

“Tomorrow, I leave school at half past five. When Marg and his friends corner me, you won’t interfere, will you? Wait until they leave and don’t show up.”

I grimaced but agreed:

“It’s okay. But they won’t corner you.”

“That we’ll see,” Samfen snorted. “See you tomorrow.”

“Ayo!” I replied, smiling.

And as my brother left the tavern in the direction of the barber’s shop, I sat down, glanced at Little Wolf who was playing with the Master, and whispered:

“Anyway, if they corner him, I already know who I’m going to throw my knife at!”

I caught the apprehensive look of an elf sitting nearby and felt it was time to leave. So Little Wolf and I left the tavern, and I bought a large loaf of bread, a cheese, and an orange. I gave the orange to Little Wolf to carry and said to him: “Take good care of it, Little Wolf, it’s not for you, it’s for Manras”. And that little devil understood me very well: the blond boy was mute and small, but he was not stupid.

It was already half past six when we reached the Cats, and the sky was already very dark. Absorbed in my thoughts, I recalled what had happened this afternoon. Zenira, Lowen, my bet with Samfen, the orange juice… And, with some concern, I wondered: and where will I take Samfen if I win the bet? To see my friends? No, I already knew that he wouldn’t like it. Maybe to the Golden Baths! But, as Diver said, that was just a nail-pincher hobby. So I had an idea. What if I showed him the Palace? Since he liked pretty stones, he would love the Palace!

So I was planning to drag Samfen into the biggest mess of his life when, suddenly, turning a corner and entering an alley already close to the Labyrinth, I passed by some hooded adult-sized figures, and without warning, one of them hit me, dragged me against a wall, into a corner, and, without moving his knife away from my throat, hissed at me in a cold voice:

“If you scream, you’re dead.”

7 Who put me into a flour sack?

I did not scream. That didn’t mean I had much hope that they would let me live. I could not see their faces behind their scarves and folded hoods, but something told me that these fellows knew me, and were expressly after me. Could it have been the Albino who had seen me talking to Lowen Frashluc and had come to enforce his threat? No, it looked more like the… I gasped:

“Braggart?”

The one who threatened me with the knife confirmed:

“Very round. And, you, you’re the damned Black Dagger mage who sabotaged our explosive.”

I did not deny it. They disarmed me, took away my bread and cheese, and searched my pockets. I was desperately looking for Little Wolf, but they had dragged me into the alley, and my captors and the shadows of the night prevented me from seeing. Well, it was better that nobody noticed the little one…

They pushed me along an uneven path between the blind wall of a house and the rocky face of the mountain. We did not get out of there. That afternoon, I had used up quite a bit of my energy stem to repair Manras’ head; nevertheless, I accumulated mortic energy, gathered it with all my might… but blasthell, what was the point? I would only have confirmed that I was a damned mage, I would have stunned one, alarmed the others, and they would have cut my throat without further ado. Because, even though I had told Korther that I didn’t know if I could kill with a mortic discharge, well… deep down, I was almost certain that I couldn’t. Warok had died of an overdose, not because of my shock.

They pushed me against the wall, and the one with the knife—probably Braggart—immediately grabbed me again.

“We know where Swift gets his mysterious wealth from,” he whispered, blowing his breath in my face. “Apparently, you’ve been given a nice sum of money. If you want to live, you’ll have to tell us where you’re hiding the loot.”

He stepped back and kneed me in the stomach. I bent over and let out a muffled scream.

“Silence,” he ordered.

I gritted my teeth. Okay, so this was all about the money. About stealing it from the gang and getting back at us maybe, but also just about the money. The problem was, if I told them the truth, they could just pop me off afterwards. One of his companions pulled me up, and I stammered:

“Swift has it. To get it, you’ll have to…”

I received a slap. I spat out a tooth. A milk tooth, fortunately. One of the few I had left. Then the Braggart said:

“Take off his boots.”

One of them took them off me, shook them, and gave a little laugh.

“Hey! Aren’t those goldies?”

There were six in total. The others were in my cap. They found them, of course, and they slashed my cap to pieces. And, perhaps hoping to get more, they took off my coat and slashed it too. Finding no more siatos, the Braggart turned his attention to me.

“Well, then, where’s the rest? And no tricks,” he warned me.

And with one stroke of his knife, he tore off all my necklaces. This tied my throat in grief more than seeing my coat in tatters, and I was unable to answer.

“Decorate him,” the Braggart said then.

I didn’t know what he meant until one of them started to give me shallow cuts on the arms. Braggart began to whistle softly.

“Where is it, brat, where is it,” he reminded me with a calmness that made me shudder.

Finally, I recovered my voice and moaned:

“I’ll say it, I’ll say it, but don’t pop me off! I didn’t kill anyone from your clan. It… hurts,” I sobbed.

Braggart pushed the dagger aside and grabbed me by the chin to pull it up. His hand was gloved. How I would have loved to bite it with all my teeth. How I would have loved to stab that greedy assassin who had tried to lynch Swift last moon… His fingers clutched my cheeks as he whispered:

“I won’t kill you if you tell me where the treasure is and you quit Swift’s gang.”

I swallowed, closed my eyes, opened them again, and whispered:

“It’s in the Crypt.”

There was a brief silence.

“What crypt?” the Braggart replied.

“The Crypt,” I repeated.

There was another silence, followed by an incredulous gasp.

“The forest? You mean you went all the way to the Crypt to hide the money? Good mother. How much is there?” he questioned.

I saw no reason to lie to him.

“Twenty whitewheels.”

Braggart gave a grunt.

“That little?”

This time it was I who gasped in disbelief.

“What do you mean, that little? That’s four hundred gol—”

My head hit the stone. Oh dear. Braggart whistled:

“I can do my own calculations, you dimwit. The Crypt is huge. Where did you put the money? Around the edge?”

I shook my head.

“Further,” I lied. “I’m not afraid of the woods. You’ll never find it.”

“Well, natural,” the Braggart laughed. “Bekel. Go ahead, tame him.”

I was alarmed. What did he mean, tame me? I understood only when a guy held a rag to my nose. Should I breathe or not breathe? In the end, natural, I had to breathe. My eyes, my throat, my lungs burned. Panicked, I protested:

“You said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“And I didn’t kill you, you dimwit,” the Braggart replied.

As a terrible dizziness came over me, I collapsed. Before plunging into unconsciousness, I heard him mockingly add a:

“Not yet.”

* * *

I awoke to a metallic bong like that of the mine and felt as if I had suddenly popped my head out of the vampiric foam, drowsy and drained of energy. Little Wolf was asleep on top of me, there were sounds of voices, and my head was spinning. Dizzy, woozy, I sat up, gently pushing the little one, and tried to find my bearings.

I found myself in a room full of desks and people walking by, looking busy. Flies. They were flies!

I blinked, stunned. I couldn’t remember how I got here. I couldn’t remember anything. No, I did, I thought. I remembered buying an orange from Little Wolf, and he didn’t have it anymore. But that didn’t matter. Not after we had landed in a police station.

The most incredible thing was that I wasn’t behind bars: they had just left me lying there by a wall, as if they didn’t know what to do with me.

I was so disconcerted that, to clear my mind, I tried to wake up Little Wolf’s morjas. He didn’t need it anymore, normally, because with the morjas he sucked from the Master and his collar, he had no shortage of awake morjas, but… Suddenly, I frowned and looked down for my… necklaces! They were not there. Had the flies stolen them from me? I could not remember. My mind was not working properly. I decided not to get upset, I calmed myself and looked up at the people in uniform. They passed by without seeing me, some just glanced at me. No one was paying any attention to me. Well, maybe I could just leave, then.

I took the sleeping Little Wolf and took a few steps towards the open door. I was barefoot. I used to have boots on. Where were my boots? And my coat, I remembered. I had a coat too. But now I had bandages on my arms. Why had I been bandaged? There was blood on the shirts. I must have fallen somewhere or…

The more I tried to remember, the more I realized that my efforts were useless, and I stopped trying. Then I noticed two flies watching me. I kept going, but with the gait of a cautious crab who is not sure how far he is allowed to move.

Then one of the flies, a redheaded caitian, came up and blocked my way.

“Kid, I’d like to ask you some questions. If you don’t mind,” he said, pointing to a chair.

Dazed as I was, I did not react immediately, and he gently pushed me to the seat. I sat down without letting go of Little Wolf, and the fly sat on the edge of the desk that was right in front of me. He looked at me with a friendly face.

“We got you out of a jam, boy. Some scoundrels were carrying you in a flour sack. I don’t know what they wanted to do with you, but nothing good, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, they got away before we could get our hands on them.”

He paused. I was trying to remember… A flour sack? I couldn’t remember ever being put in a flour sack. The fly resumed:

“Those who attacked you, do you know who they were? Did you talk to them?”

I frowned and shook my head.

“You haven’t spoken with them?”

I shrugged and looked down at Little Wolf. My head was heavy as a rock… The fly huffed.

“You haven’t become as mute as the little boy, by any chance?”

I swallowed and finally muttered a:

“No, sir.”

“Good, then,” the caitian rejoiced. “So, tell me, what happened?”

I blinked. Why was that fly asking me precisely what I didn’t know?

“I don’t know, sir, I don’t know what happened,” I replied.

I knew that in principle I should have been tense and afraid of being questioned by a fly. However, curiously, I felt relaxed. Perhaps because I was not being accused of anything? Unless it was because this fly had a really nice face. Or maybe it was because I had been hit on the head and had become a dimwit. “Dimwit”, I repeated to myself, startled. Someone had called me that not long ago, hadn’t they? And the blow on the head, yes, that sounded familiar too… Manras had received a blow on the head when he was acting like an isturbag.

“So, you tell me you don’t know who attacked you,” the red-haired caitian concluded.

I shook my head again and asked:

“Can I go now?”

The fly’s pout did not inspire me with confidence, and this time, I tensed a little. I sighed.

“You busted me?”

“Not that I know of. Should I?” the fly replied.

I frowned, and again I shook my head, as if to say, “No, officer, I’m as innocent as a newborn baby”. The caitian exhaled, looking tired.

“You don’t recognize me, but I know who you are, kid. You’re Kakz’s little brother. Look, my shift ends in half an hour, and after that, you’re coming with me. In the meantime, you stay here and try to remember those guys who attacked you. If you know who they are, there’s no point in covering for them.”

With a bewildered expression, I looked at the fly as he walked away. But who the blasthell was that guy? It was true that, now that he said it, his face looked familiar. But I could not put my finger on it. I felt so lost!

Fortunately, I had Little Wolf. It’s not that the little one helped me much to find my bearings, but at least with him I wasn’t alone. Comforted by this thought, I fell asleep there, sitting on the chair, overcome by a deep torpor.

When I woke up again, I knew at once that I was no longer at the police station. What a damn habit people had of shuffling me from place to place. I yawned and… I met Dakis’ big green eyes. Holy…! I jerked upright, startled, and was about to back away when I remembered that I had decided that the hellhound was a friend. I swallowed and muttered:

“Ayo.”

The hellhound smiled at me. I looked up at the living room, the sofas and the table loaded with instruments. There were people there. Yabir and Shokinori, as well as the Blue One, the Blonde One, the Alchemist, Kakzail, the giant with the tattoos, and… the redheaded caitian. Of course. That fly was one of my older brother’s two fellow gladiators.

Eight people in all. That was a lot of people, but I could not find the one I was looking for. I stood up, looked around the room, and without even listening to a word of the adults’ conversation, I began to fidget, looking under a cupboard, under a sofa, and throughout my explorations, Dakis followed me curiously. Finally, perhaps seeing my growing concern, Kakzail asked me with a snort:

“What’s up with you now?”

I turned to my brother in dismay.

“Little Wolf,” I stammered. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Kakzail inquired, puzzled.

Then I looked at him, horrified.

“Little Wolf!” I repeated, hitting the back of the sofa. “You took Little Wolf from me! You abandoned him!”

I couldn’t believe it. They had taken Little Wolf from me! Panic paralysed me. It was the redheaded caitian who intervened:

“I think he’s talking about the kid who came after, when those scoundrels abandoned him and ran off. Don’t worry, kid. Nobody abandoned your little friend. He’s gonna be put in an orphanage, and they’re gonna look for his family if he has one. There’s no reason to panic,” he assured.

That there was no reason to panic? Hell, of course there was! I rushed to the door. It was not Dakis who prevented me from reaching it, but Kakzail. My brother took me by the arm and hissed:

“You better not attack me with your dark magic shock.”

I widened my eyes and obeyed him: I did not send him any shock. But I struggled like hell. I used several techniques taught to me by my cousin and others taught to me by my companions and other Cats. I soon found myself with my wrists tied behind my back.

“At least, there’s no need to ask him if he feels well,” the alchemist chuckled from a sofa, “What would it be like if he drank an energy potion!”

“Better not to try,” Yabir breathed out.

I looked at both of them, my eyebrows furrowed. Wait a second… how did the hobbits know about the alchemist? Kakzail grabbed me by the neck with one hand and said:

“Will you be quiet?”

I nodded. It’s not like I had a choice. The bearded man let go of me and added harshly:

“Think, if Dalto hadn’t been there last night to save you, by now you’d probably be dead.”

I frowned and glanced at the red-haired caitian. Then I noticed the light coming in through the windows. It was daylight. So I had been sleeping all night. And who knew where Little Wolf was now!

I looked defiantly at my brother. However, as I met his severe expression, I remembered the mortic shock and the bad trick Le Bor had played on him half a moon earlier, and I thought it prudent to change my attitude. And as I was in no mood to say, “Ayo, brother, good to see you!”, much less to say, “I am sorry”, I fell silent and set about examining the bandages on my arms. Some of them had come off while I was struggling, and when I saw the cuts, I was troubled. I knew who had done it, didn’t I? It wasn’t the flies. Those insulted you, beat you up, put you behind bars, but they didn’t decorate you. They didn’t decorate you, I repeated to myself, dazed. A feeling of anguish came over me. “Decorate him”, one had said. And they had decorated me with the knife. Yes, but who? I didn’t know, and that was what disturbed me the most.

“Hey… Are you feeling alright?” Kakzail asked as he watched me, his brow furrowed.

The others were talking, but their voices came to my ears like disjointed syllables. I stretched, calmed myself, and nodded silently. Kakzail huffed at my lack of communication, and without a word, he moved away into the room. I glanced at the door, sighed, and as I looked around at the people there, I saw the Blue One’s eyes sparkling. I tensed, and realizing that my brother wanted something from me before he set me free, I walked around the sofas while Dessari Wayam talked about some wonderful plant he had bought years ago in the Underground. Kakzail had gone to pour himself a glass of wine. I stopped beside him and bit my lip, nervous. I didn’t know what to say to him. I opened my mouth several times, closed it again, bit my tongue, scratched my head furiously…

“Mr. Malaxalra,” Yabir said suddenly, rising to his feet. “Will you allow me to ask your younger brother a question?”

He was addressing Kakzail. My older brother was obviously not expecting such a strange request.

“Uh… naturally. Of course,” he replied. “He’s all yours.”

The Undergrounder smiled, bowed slightly, and turned to me.

“Good morning, Draen. Look, the day before yesterday you showed me a blue stone you were wearing, and at the time, I was so focused on the White Opal that I didn’t take the time to think about it, but… if you don’t mind, could I see it again?”

The request drew a pout of surprise from me. I shook my head, and seeing that Yabir was looking disappointed, I explained:

“I don’t have it anymore, that’s why.” And, uncomfortably, I switched to Caeldric to ask him in a hesitant voice, “Say, you didn’t tell them about the robbery, did you?”

Yabir was speechless. From his chair, Shokinori laughed quietly and said in Caeldric:

“Do you know, my boy, that Mr. Wayam and the Misses Zoria and Zalen can speak Caeldric as well as you?”

This killed me. I did not know where to put myself. So I stood still, watching the reaction of the alchemist and the twins. The former seemed to find the situation amusing. The Blonde One coughed softly. The Blue One remained unmoved.

“So you’re telling me,” Yabir resumed in Drionsan, “you don’t have it anymore. Did you sell it, perhaps?”

I swallowed and said:

“No. I lost it last night. I had it yesterday, I’m sure of it. But, when I woke up at the police station, goodbye necklaces. The five of them.”

Just thinking about it made my mood darken. Yabir’s eyebrows were furrowed.

“Did the people who attacked you steal them?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Yabir rubbed his neck thoughtfully.

“Where did you get it from?”

“The blue stone?” I asked, and as he nodded, I was about to reply: “Little Wolf”. But for some reason I held back. I looked at the hobbit, my eyes crinkled, and replied, “And what does it matter where I got it from?”

Kakzail clicked his tongue.

“Ashig, you don’t talk to people in that tone.”

I rolled my eyes, unable to believe that he was giving me a lesson in education, for I was the most civilized gwak on the Rock after the Priest, according to this one. However, I corrected myself and opted to lie:

“I found it in a tree.”

Shokinori laughed.

“In a tree?” Yabir repeated in disbelief.

I nodded, smiling, and, inspired, I said:

“A very big tree. It had feathers on it, instead of flowers, and they were falling off, because I found it in autumn, so I picked one up before it got damaged, you know? And I said to it: ‘Princess, my treasure, pretty flower of my liiife, I came here to help you! ’ So I sang to her. Or so I sung, as Lin says. And she turned into a gem. But last night!” I cried, “those trolls took her from me, and they took my bones too. But don’t worry, because I’ll crush their heads when I hold them in my dragon claws!”

As soon as I fell silent, I realized that by listening to the stories of Breaky-Hand in Wool Square, the storyteller’s verve had taken hold of me. And, to tell the truth, I had done quite well, except that… perhaps it was not the most appropriate time. That sort of thing was done with the comrades, not the adults. So, under my brother’s stunned gaze, I hastened to add:

“Actually, I found it on the ground. In a street.”

And, agitated, I struck my forehead, turned to the little table where the bottle of wine with which Kakzail had helped himself lay, and took the bottle, saying:

“I can, right?”

I was about to drink straight from the bottle, but Kakzail snatched it out of my hand and growled:

“No, you can’t, you scamp. You’re unbelievable! In the end, Father and Mother may be right. The youth center is a great idea. It’s better that they send you there than that you end up being stabbed in the Labyrinth or sentenced to hard labor.”

I looked at him, appalled, hurt, and confused. A youth center? And what was that? After a silence, Yabir cleared his throat politely.

“One last question, if it’s not too much to ask. Why did you decide to call yourself Hilemplert when you didn’t yet know you were a Malaxalra?”

I was still processing the story about the youth center my family wanted to send me to, and I answered with a dark pout:

“I dunno. They wanted a name, so I gave them one.”

“But why Hilemplert?” the Baïra insisted.

I shook my head in confusion.

“I dunno.”

Yabir’s intense gaze made me nervous. And the Blue One even more so. And you could tell that Kakzail was in over his head with me, and what was worse, angry with me. Spirits, how I wanted to get out of here! I wanted to leave. I wanted to go and find Little Wolf. I wanted to return with my companions. I almost burst out and shouted at them: I want to go! But Kakzail would not have listened to me. So I had an idea.

“Why are you looking for the gem?” I said, and without giving Yabir time to answer, I added, “I give it to you. We’ll get my necklaces with the Orb. And if we find my bones, I’ll give you the gem. I swear it. It’s all yours. But you must take me with you.”

Yabir blinked.

“Take you with us? To Yadibia?”

I laughed, regaining my good humor.

“No, not to Yadibia. To search for the necklaces. You have the Orb, I know the ways. Shall we go?”

“No way,” Kakzail hissed.

My enthusiasm waned, and I sighed in annoyance. I had just had a great idea—not so much to find my bone necklace as to find Little Wolf’s—and my brother had just ruined it. He was a fly, of course! Yabir gave me an apologetic pout. Getting up from one of the sofas, Zoria, the Blue One, intervened:

“The idea is not bad, Kakz. Yabir wants to find that gem and I think he’s quite willing to hire us as mercenaries to get it, right?” The young hobbit’s face reflected surprise, but he nodded vigorously, looking as if to say, well, why not? Zoria added with satisfaction, “It will benefit everyone. Besides, this way we’ll manage to find those bandits who attacked your brother.”

Kakzail looked at her in disbelief.

“Are you serious? But… you were the one who asked me to quit my job because there was too much risk for what I was being paid. And now you want me to go and beat the shit out of this scum?”

The Blue woman smiled thinly.

“You’re dying for it. And Yabir will pay better, won’t he?”

The young hobbit opened his mouth, glanced apologetically at a dark-faced Shokinori, and assured:

“Of course! It will be a pleasure to hire you all to find this gem. Including the boy. I think he knows more about this town than all of us combined,” he opined.

This filled me with pride. Kakzail pouted, huffed, turned to the tattooed northern man and the caitian and asked:

“Sarpas, Dalto… what do you think, friends? It’s just madness, isn’t it?”

The giant smiled and nodded.

“About the same madness, I think, as running away from Tassia, my friend. Capturing child thieves is a very good thing. I like the idea,” he admitted in his horrible northern accent.

The redheaded caitian smiled in turn and assured:

“If you’d seen the way those freaks threw your brother into that flour sack, you wouldn’t hesitate for a second, Kakz. You know you can count on us.”

Kakzail rolled his eyes, smiled, finally convinced, and facing my wide eyes, put his hands on his hips and said fiercely:

“Let’s go kick the shit out of these scoundrels.”

“Let’s go!” his two companions asserted enthusiastically.

I stared at the three gladiators in amazement and fully understood what the decision to go get the gem entailed. Was I dreaming or were the gladiators and the twins really going to beat…? “Beat who?” I thought, confused. Who the blasthell had attacked me the night before?

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember. Maybe I was starting to have memory lapses like my nakrus master and… Something in Yabir’s hands caught my attention and scattered my thoughts. It was the Purple Orb. Yabir had activated it and was searching for a powerful source of morjas. I approached, hopeful.

“Can you find it?”

The hobbit frowned in concentration.

“I don’t know. I think I have something not too far away.”

“Then let’s go!” I urged them, overexcited. “Let’s go!”

Kakzail held me back by the arm.

“Not so fast, Ashig. First you’re going to listen to me. If you part with any of us, if you go back with that gang of yours, you’ll regret it. You’ll regret it, and a lot. The ‘sorry’ and tears won’t work anymore. If you act like a fool this time, I’ll stop treating you like a brother and start treating you like a treacherous little thief. If you walk away, goodbye family. Got it?”

I stood looking at him in awe. His voice was so serious! I did not hesitate, however, for there was now only one possible answer, so I said:

“It runs.”

Kakzail continued to scrutinize me as if looking for a trace of mischief in my face. Perhaps he found it, or perhaps he did not; in any case, he sighed and said:

“Well! I propose, my queens, that you begin searching for the location of that bone necklace with our guests, and in the meantime, the rest of us get ready and take care of your foster father. Tonight, if you haven’t found it, we’ll meet in Moon Square and switch roles.”

The alchemist huffed.

“Feh, take care of me! You young people are always taking care of me. You know what? I’m going to go to Yadibia with these good Baïras to see if you can leave me in peace for a while…”

“Leave you in peace? In your dreams!” the Blonde One exclaimed in a mocking tone. “You’re not going to get rid of your two bodyguards like that. That’s the downside of being Hareka’s top alchemist.”

As everyone began to talk in a haphazard fashion, some talking about weapons, some about bones, and some about potions, I took advantage of Kakzail’s inattention to take a swig from the wine bottle. Just one, to give me courage, to warm me up, and to remember. I sat down on the floor, and seeing that Dakis had come to lie beside me, I stroked him and whispered to myself in Caeldric:

“Remember, remember. Remember, Survivor.”

But as I racked my brains, my mind kept returning to Kakzail’s threat. He had asked me to get away from my companions, and I had said “it runs”? How could I have told him “it runs”? How could I have intended to keep such a ridiculous promise? But if I didn’t keep it, then I would be without family. Kakzail would reject me for being a traitor, my parents would repudiate me for being a thief, a rogue, an irresponsible person, a dimwit… Dimwit, dimwit, I thought suddenly. I opened my eyes wide and massaged my head, suddenly feeling a strange pain.

“I can do my own calculations, you dimwit.” I muttered. “The Crypt is huge. The Crypt is huge,” I repeated.

That’s what the one with the knife had said. The Crypt is huge. And he didn’t know where my treasure was hidden. But who was he? I took a deep breath. And then I remembered.

8 Why can’t we live without choosing?

“Ah… Over here, there’s something very similar to ferilompard morjas,” Yabir muttered, stopping in the middle of the street.

He had led us to several butcher shops so far, so I did not cry out in victory. I watched him intently as he raised an index finger and waved it around indecisively, looking focused.

“Yes. Just… there,” he concluded.

No sooner had he signalled than I ran off in that direction, accompanied by Dakis, leaving the hobbits and the twins behind. We were in Tarmil, an area in which they did not think the gang that had attacked me could be hiding, and yet I had convinced them that “maybe” they had already sold the gem and thrown the bones nearby. I hadn’t mentioned to them that Little Wolf was wearing a necklace very similar to mine.

I gasped, spun round, and looked among the passers-by, turning my gaze downwards, looking for a small figure. He must be… Then I looked up and turned pale. I was standing before a small building with a metal plate on it. I spelled out:

“Abandoned Children’s Home—Blasthell of blasthells!” I spat.

I rushed to a window of the orphanage and stuck my nose to the glass. I saw some figures sitting on the floor. I pushed. It was as sunny as the day before, and it turned out that someone had opened the window and forgotten to turn the handle to close it. I peeped in, and as about twenty eyes were riveted on me, I hastened to put an index finger to my lips. The little kids said nothing. Several of them covered their mouths to keep from laughing. There were no adults. I looked for Little Wolf. It was easy: recognizing me, the blond boy had stood up and was now running towards me, his mouth open with joy, round as a half-siato coin. I smiled with happiness.

“Come, Little Wolf, come!” I urged him in a whisper.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the window, I grabbed him, pulled him out, and ran away. The hound beside me looked almost as pleased as I was. I stopped as soon as I reached the hobbits and the twins. While the former greeted me with expressions of disbelief, the Blonde One laughed and the Blue One rolled her eyes and scoffed:

“So that was the bone necklace we were looking for, kid?”

I smiled back at her.

“You’ve made a fool of us,” Yabir complained, still stunned.

I put Little Wolf down and hurriedly put my scarf over his head, so that he would not be recognized with his blond hair, while I answered:

“That was the first and foremost thing, sorry. I’m not leaving Little Wolf in that den, not even for a thousand crowns. Now, let’s get the gem. This time, no tricks, I swear. I remember where those isturbags attacked me. And I know where they live.”

Zalen, the Blonde One, gasped.

“What? But Dalto told us you didn’t know them.”

“Yes, but I do know them,” I assured. “The problem is, I didn’t remember, because they shook me and they put something in my nose that made my head spin like a top, but now I remember. I remember everything. Can we get moving? Actually,” I explained as I started down the slope, quickly moving away from the orphanage. “These guys wanted me to give them my money. But, if I had given it to them, then they would have popped me off anyway. These guys are the worst. They set up shop in the Black Quarter, but in reality, they’re from the Cats. Real screwballs. Well. So that’s it. End of story. So is it true that my brother is going to pop them off?” I enthused.

The twins exchanged eloquent looks. Cautiously, Zalen asked:

“What exactly do you mean by ‘pop off’?”

I huffed.

“Cut them, spirit them away, kill them. That’s what I mean,” I said gravely. And I pointed to a street to take a shortcut while adding, “The Braggart is a murderer.”

After a silence, I insisted:

“So? Is he going to liquidate them?”

The Blonde One cleared her throat, and it was the Blue One who answered with serenity:

“Justice will be done, boy. Justice will be done.”

I bit my lip, looked at her out of the corner of my eye, and nodded, convinced.

“Good.”

And, thus relieved, I led my little party into the Cat Quarter. Almost immediately, I found the place where the Braggart’s had attacked me, and the rocky path, but Yabir did not sense the presence of ferilompard bones there. We found the bones of several rats. And I found the necklace of my Daglat star. That was something. I tied a knot in it to repair it, put it around Little Wolf’s neck, and smiled while the little one examined his second necklace with curiosity.

“Keep it well, shyur. I hope it brings you more luck than it did me,” I said. I hesitated and turned to Yabir. The hobbit had his eyes closed to concentrate as best he could as he grasped the Orb. Shyly, I interrupted him, “Yabir?” The hobbit opened his eyes. I tilted my head to the side and asked in Caeldric, “Why are you looking for this gem? Is it really valuable?”

“Oh.” The hobbit rubbed his neck thoughtfully. “I’m not sure about that. I don’t think the stone itself is worth much, but… the energy symbol etched on it… if it’s indeed what I think it is, then, this stone may indeed be very valuable.” Facing my watchful eyes, he smiled and observed, “I don’t know how it got to you, but… if I’m not mistaken, this stone belonged to the royal family of the underground city of Hilemplert.”

I blinked.

“What family?”

“The royal family of Hilemplert. The kings who were dethroned and slaughtered two years ago. Much to the relief of many, it must be said,” Yabir coughed. “Hilemplert is less than a week’s journey from Yadibia… so, I cannot deny that I, myself, welcomed the fall of those tyrants.” He tossed the Orb into the air and caught it in mid-air, adding, “The stone is undoubtedly valuable… but only to those who know what it is. To a jeweler in Estergat, I don’t think you can sell it for more than forty siatos. I, on the other hand, can offer you much more for it. Uh…” He took on a worried look, “Are you all right, boy?”

I nodded, my heart beating rapidly.

“R-ragingly,” I stammered.

I breathed in deeply and felt the hand of Little Wolf very clearly in mine. I thought of that woman who had paid Coldpalm for the papers with Little Wolf and the Gem. Who was she? I didn’t know, the witch didn’t know, but maybe she came from the Underground. And maybe Little Wolf had been carrying the gem all his life, just as I had been carrying the little metal plate from the valley. And that meant that Little Wolf was a king. Well, no, the son of tyrant underground kings who had been slaughtered two years ago. Good mother. Now that was really… Blasthell. That was really incredible. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell anyone. Never. Ever.

But the hobbits know, I thought with a shudder. Or they should know, if they had really spied my conversation with Coldpalm through the Black Opal. Maybe they hadn’t heard me, or they had forgotten, or they hadn’t made the connection…

Facing the curious looks of Yabir and Shokinori, I cleared my throat and recovered. There was no point in thinking about kings and that sort of nonsense. I looked down at Little Wolf, wiped his nose, then raised my head, waving vaguely.

“For sure, the isturbag took the gem to the Black Quarter. Let’s go, I know a shortcut.”

I led them through the alleys of the district, avoiding the patrols of the flies, and we came to the slope of the Timid River and the border with the Black Quarter. The thought of entering Braggart’s domain filled me with apprehension, but I was so well accompanied, and Yabir seemed so willing to find the gem, that I overcame my fears, crossed the bridge, and led us onward between the hovels of the Black Quarter.

I had only been in there a few times. Why go there anyway? There were taverns there, but there were also taverns in the Cats. There were working-class families like in the Cats. There were gangs, thieves, scoundrels, just like in the Cats. Well, all in all, it was basically the same as in the Cats, except that in my district the families had lived there for several generations, whereas in the Black Quarter there were newly arrived foreigners, Tassians, Valley People, Plaarians, Swamp People, and certain races, such as the ternians, who had never been fully accepted as sajits.

In principle, Yabir had hired me as a guide, so, at first, I pretended to move forward with confidence… However, after a while of wandering through the muddy, cluttered alleys, I felt it necessary to confess:

“This whole area, I don’t know it that well.”

Yabir didn’t look disappointed or surprised. He was too focused on the Orb to pay any attention to me anyway. To tell the truth, the others didn’t seem to have heard me either. The Blonde One was looking around, her expression both shocked and pained. The Blue One was scanning the faces of the people we passed, as if she knew their deepest secrets—at least that’s how it looked when she looked at you with those sparkling eyes. As for Shokinori and Dakis, they seemed to be absorbed in a mental conversation. Finally, I wondered if anyone in the group had been listening to me. Feh. I looked down at Little Wolf, and seeing him exhausted from so much walking, I hoisted him onto my shoulders, earning him an enthusiastic smile. Then I slowed my pace and let Yabir go ahead. After all, he was leading us now.

We went down the slope again until we came to an area which was almost flat, but also full of shacks, small markets, and some rare hard buildings. Then Yabir stopped, did a half turn, and we turned back; he stopped again after a while and huffed.

“Shok, help me out here, will you?”

And he passed him the Purple Orb. Shokinori concentrated in turn. After a few moments, the hobbit warrior shook his head.

“I don’t know. I can tell the morjas of a plant from that of a bone, but not a chicken bone from a gahodal bone. I’m not an…” he glanced at me eloquently and concluded, “expert.”

Yabir cocked his head to one side, and in a sudden rush, the young Baïra took back the Orb and handed it to me.

“Take it. You try it. It’s activated. See if you can find anything. I’m stuck.”

The proposal left me stunned and at the same time delighted. I took the Orb. The last time I had held it in my hands in the Hostel, I had felt the link to the Black Opal, nothing else. This time, I did not perceive the presence of one link, but of many others. A great many of them. Obviously, this relic could be activated in different ways. One for the Black Opal, another to search for bones. I smiled as I felt the explosion of morjas coming from Little Wolf’s necklace. I concentrated and tried to find other sources. I found mine, of course, and my companions’, but theirs was far less noticeable. As I looked around for other supplies of morjas, my smile widened. This was so wonderful! My master would have loved this. It would have made his jaw drop in his lap for sure. I could sense the morjas of a chicken bone, abandoned under the mud, the morjas of a dead rat carcass a little further on, the morjas of a… sajit? I shuddered and looked in the appropriate direction, towards a house… No, behind that house. Filled with an unhealthy curiosity, I walked forward, Little Wolf on my shoulders. As I came around the corner, I saw a small mound of earth just below the house. Someone had recently placed flowers there. A grave, I realized. After swallowing my fright, I let out a breath, turned to my companions with a big smile, and exclaimed:

“This is so awesome!”

I laughed, euphoric, put Little Wolf down, and trotted off with him into another alley. So much morjas, so much food for my master! I kept exploring the area, fascinated, ecstatic by each discovery. An old man sitting on the threshold of his house watched me come and go with a curious expression as I picked up bones, dug them up, and admired them, and after showing them to Yabir, I put them in my pockets and continued my hunt. It was so wonderful!

“And that one, and that one!” I exclaimed, pulling out a huge gnawed shin that must have belonged to an ox or something. “Have you seen it, Little Wolf? It’s almost as tall as you!”

Finally, Shokinori intervened with a loud clearing of his throat.

“Um, boy.” I turned around. The Blue One was whispering with Yabir, the Blonde One was laughing under her breath, and Shokinori was looking at me with a mocking expression. The latter resumed in Caeldric, “I never imagined that a bone could be the cause of so much joy, and I am glad of it, but I fear that Yabir is not looking for ox legs.”

For a second, I was speechless. Then I laughed and nodded, throwing the bone.

“Sure, it runs, there I go. I’m gonna look for them. I know where they are,” I assured, raising the Orb.

And I set off. Dakis trotted beside me, the others followed, I felt like the king of the expedition! So I tried to concentrate and make sure that the Orb was really pointing to the ferilompard bones I had been carrying for the last two weeks. They were, I was sure, for they were the sister bones to those carried by Little Wolf.

I found them abandoned carelessly in the mud beside a large warehouse door. We were now in a warehouse area. I crouched down, picked up the bones one by one, counted them and nodded. They were all there. That meant that… I looked up and around, suddenly alarmed. If the bones were there, it meant that Braggart had been there with his gang. I stepped back and said:

“Those are the bones. But I have no idea where the gem might be. We’d better get out of here.”

“But there’s no one around,” Yabir argued.

I shook my head and assured, nervous.

“There is.” I pointed to the warehouse where I found the bones. “There are bones in there.”

Yabir made a face.

“Alive?”

I gave him a curious look.

“The bones live. But I can’t tell if the sajits in there are alive. Let’s get out of here, okay?” I insisted.

I was getting more and more nervous. This place was deserted and silent, the sky was darkening, and we were in enemy territory. I said urgently:

“I’m legging it.”

“Wait,” Yabir interjected. “You think that Braggart lives just here? It’s a warehouse, not a house.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s got walls and a roof. It’s a house. I’m not saying that Braggart lives there, but I’m sure that…”

I fell silent as I suddenly saw a figure creeping between two walls. It disappeared behind a building. Dakis growled. I could take no more of it and repeated in a muffled exclamation:

“I’m legging it!”

I grabbed Little Wolf and ran off as fast as I could. Dakis passed me quickly. We ran between the warehouses, with our backs to the Rock, so that in a few minutes I came upon the lowest street of the Black Quarter, near the only temple in the district and the Rida Bridge. This area was already lit by streetlights, people were walking, and though I didn’t feel much safer, I relaxed, caught my breath, and put Little Wolf down as we reached the bridge.

“Where have the others gone?” I muttered, glancing back with concern.

Dakis wagged his tail. He didn’t look very worried. I scratched my head, scanning the growing darkness. Perhaps the hellhound was right not to worry, I thought. After all, both the hobbits and the twins were celmists, powerful wizards, and—apart from Yabir—all carried weapons. I bit my lip and muttered:

“I’m not a chicken, am I?” I turned to the hellhound and repeated, “Am I?”

The hellhound, of course, did not answer. I would have liked to have been able to hear his thoughts through brejic arts. Unfortunately, I had no idea of these mental arts.

I shook my head and continued to wait, getting more and more nervous. Then I saw Shokinori appear running. He knew right away where we were; he ran straight towards us and shouted:

“Kid! Run to Moon Square and see if you can find Kakzail and tell him to call the police.”

I opened my eyes wide, dying of curiosity.

“What the…?”

“Go!” Shokinori cut me off. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Leaving Little Wolf in his care, I stormed off, crossed the little bridge, and ran down the Haven Walkway as fast as I could. Why did Shokinori want my brother to call the police? Had something bad happened? I didn’t have time to really worry. I passed the busy Hippodrome, dodged the carts and the strolling nail-pinchers, and finally arrived at the Moon Square, gasping for breath, and turning my head in all directions, looked for the gladiators. To my relief, I soon saw them standing in the middle of the square. They were armed as they had been when I first saw them at The Drawer. None of them wore the fly uniform. The alchemist was there too, eating a bun that looked delicious. They were chatting quietly: I interrupted them as I came storming in.

“Shokinori says you must call the police!”

For a second, the four men were stunned. Then Kakzail became as nervous as a flea.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I found the bones at the warehouses in the Black Quarter. But then Shokinori told me to tell you to call the police.”

My brother huffed, and swallowing his questions with evident difficulty, he threw out in an urgent tone:

“Let’s go.”

He rushed to the police station in the square, and as Dalto and Kakzail entered, I slowed down to stand outside. I waited with Sarpas and the alchemist. The giant gave me a worried pout.

“Are Zoria and Zalen in trouble?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“I don’t know. It’s just that… it’s just that I legged it before with Little Wolf and Dakis, and Shokinori came afterwards. But don’t tell my brother. I’m not a coward,” I assured him.

Sarpas smiled slightly and shook his head without answering. The alchemist rolled his eyes and finished his bun before stating:

“I believe you. If you were a coward, you wouldn’t have gone into the mine to save me like a hero. What an adventure it was, huh?” he grinned.

The gnome’s words were oddly comforting to me. Because they were right. I, Mor-eldal, was not a coward: I was a cautious gwak. My master would have been proud of me: for once, I had been careful!

A few moments later, Kakzail and Dalto came out of the station, followed by three flies, and from the way they were talking to one of them, I deduced that he was a friend. They got into a vehicle in a hurry, and to my dismay, I saw the moment when they were going to forget me completely. Then Kakzail glanced at me and growled.

“Get in, come on, quick.”

I climbed in with a mixture of excitement and horror. Excitement because I had not been left out after all; horror because the last time I had ridden in a fly cart it had gone straight to Carnation. The horses began to move at a fast trot before I could find a place, and in the end, I lost my balance and fell into Sarpas’ lap. Kakzail prevented me from getting up.

“There, you’re fine, don’t move. Tell me, did something happen to Zoria and Zalen?”

“I tell you I don’t know,” I repeated. “I didn’t see anything. Shokinori came all the way to Rida Bridge. He’s waiting for us there. He didn’t explain anything to me either.”

“And they were supposed to avoid trouble,” Kakzail grumbled.

The traffic on the Haven Walkway put him in an even worse mood. And he went on growling: “if anything has happened to them, I’ll lose it, I’ll really lose it, guys, oh man, get out of the way! Police! It’s urgent!” My brother was saying things like that. Fortunately, because we were in a fly vehicle, the carts moved aside, and soon we were crossing the Rida Bridge. Shokinori greeted us by saying in Drionsan with a horrible accent:

“Please follow me!”

I leapt down, retrieved Little Wolf, and this time, the gladiators and flies really forgot all about me. The one who seemed to be the fly chief called out to two guards on the main street for reinforcements, and the eight warriors disappeared into the Black Quarter, following the hobbit. Only the alchemist remained in the police cart with the driver. But I was dying of curiosity and could not wait there. So I ran behind the warriors, with Little Wolf in my arms. I tried not to fall behind, but it wasn’t easy. The only one who seemed to pay any attention to me was Dakis. He followed me like a shadow through the maze of houses, junk, and sheds.

When I arrived in front of the warehouse where I had found the bones, I heard the sarcastic baritone voice of the fly chief inside.

“Ah, you didn’t know that was illegal, did you? Sorry, young man, but I don’t buy that. Let me remind you that no one is supposed to ignore the law. Where’s your leader?” he barked.

I stopped at the half-open door and looked in. A bright harmonic light illuminated the whole interior. It was filled with pots with plants. Pots of dandepassion for sure. A boy of about fifteen and a boy of my age were kneeling with their hands behind their heads as the flies examined the place and the police chief questioned them. Kakzail was whispering agitatedly to the Blue One, and she seemed to be laughing at his concerns.

Suddenly, the Blonde One averted her eyes from her light spell and turned to me.

“Draen! Come in, come in. Tell me, do you recognize any of them?”

I did not move from my spot. I was appalled at the thought of going in to identify the culprits. I, a gwak, was going to tattle to the flies? It would have been a mortal blow to my dignity, even if it was an enemy gang. I met the young trafficker’s gaze and saw him widen his eyes. He had recognized me. That meant, without a doubt, that he was a member of Braggart’s gang, that he had participated in the confrontation on Sheer Cliff Street, and… perhaps he had been present when I had been “decorated”. I did not recognize him, however, and hastened to say:

“No, ma’am.”

I was about to back away, but Dalto grabbed me by the arm and pulled me inside.

“Don’t duck out. This is important. Do you really not recognize them? Are none of them part of that gang that attacked you?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. Why was I lying? Out of dignity. Because I knew that neither the kid nor the youngster had been among those who had decorated me. Maybe they had seen it. But they hadn’t done it. And that was an essential difference. I wanted to see Braggart dead, not some gwak who was just working for him watering plants. That’s why, when I saw that they were going to send them to the hole, I wanted to give them a hand.

“Those are Braggart’s slaves, for sure,” I said. “It’s not their fault. I’m sure they didn’t know about the plants. I didn’t know it was illegal either, I learned about it not long ago. Around here, we don’t know much about laws,” I explained. “Because they don’t teach us.”

The fly chief contemplated me with a dark look while, a few steps away from me, Kakzail exhaled and whispered:

“That’s all we needed.”

The two young traffickers looked at me, full of hope. The younger one exclaimed:

“He’s right! We knew nothing. We didn’t know anything about anything. We were locked in!”

The fly chief smacked him on the back of his neck.

“Enough of your bullshit,” he growled at him. “Just to be clear, ignorance of the law is no excuse for breaking it. And now let’s go.”

The flies forced them to stand up, and as they went out, I heard the fly chief comment to Kakzail in a mocking tone:

“In the end, your dear queen was doing just fine, huh? She was hunting down smugglers, sword in hand. And quite the smugglers at that: an entire warehouse, no less! Maybe we should hire her—”

“Don’t even think about it,” Kakzail replied. “We’re a group of mercenaries: we’re hired as a group.”

The fly smiled, amused, patted him on the shoulder, and walked away to attend to the business at hand. He passed by me and gave me a look that seemed to say: you’re lucky this time, rascal, but if I catch you… I grabbed Little Wolf more tightly and joined the Blonde One.

“What about the gem?” I inquired.

The mage shook her head gently.

“I do believe we’ll find it quicker if we ask in every jewellery shop in Estergat. Those poor wretches said they knew nothing,” she commented, glancing out.

And pressing a hand on my shoulder in a gesture almost as maternal as Taka’s, she gently pushed me towards the exit. There, on the street, everything was dark and there was no one there. Not a curious person had approached for fear of being questioned. Guided by Dakis, we headed for the main street, following the inmates from a distance, and on the way, Zalen whispered to me:

“Why did you defend them?”

Her tone of voice reflected curiosity. I shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what to say, and she laughed amiably:

“Maybe in the end ‘popping them off’ is a bit too drastic a remedy?”

I looked up at her with curious eyes.

“What does drastic mean?”

“Mm… radical, violent,” the mage explained demurely.

I nodded thoughtfully, but disagreed:

“Not for the Braggart. That one is like the Black Hawk. If he ever attacks me again, I’ll give him one that his ancestors will remind him of.”

We walked for a few moments, silent. I was already thinking about the hunger growing in my stomach when the Blonde One asked:

“Would you really be able to do it in cold blood, kid? Taking someone’s life. Destroying a mind. That’s a horrible thing.”

Her whispered words gave me goose bumps; I frowned uncomfortably and then finally remembered how the Braggart had thrown the explosive ball at Swift. If it had activated in my hand, he would have popped me off. How could Braggart have been okay with doing something like that? It was horrible. Yes, it was horrible. With a heavy heart, very quietly, I stammered out:

“I’m scared, ma’am.”

“What are you saying?” the Blonde One asked.

She hadn’t heard me. I sighed.

“Nothing. It’s just… I’m hungry, ma’am.”

I saw the Blonde One’s half-smile, already illuminated by the streetlights on the main street. She raised a hand to the alchemist who was waiting for us near the policemen, immersed in a conversation with the coachman, and she replied:

“That can be remedied. There’s a tavern right over there, past the Rida Bridge. They serve pretty good food. As soon as the others arrive, we’ll go there. How about that?”

I smiled and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you very much. Is Little Wolf invited too?”

Which, of course, implied that she was inviting me for free too… right? Zalen’s smile widened.

“Of course he is.”

The gladiators, the Blue One, and the hobbits soon joined us. They immediately accepted the idea of going to the tavern chosen by Zalen, and as they were all talking animatedly on the way, I followed them, hardly listening to them and dragging Little Wolf behind me. The latter still had the Master with him, to my great joy, because it would have taken me a whole morning to remake the doll, especially to look for the bones, unless…

I bit my lip, suddenly remembering: I still had the Purple Orb in my pocket, in the middle of my bone stash. I quietly pulled it out as I walked behind the adults and examined it. It no longer showed any links. How did it activate? If only I knew how to do it… But, blasthell, if Yabir knew how, there was no way a necromancer wouldn’t be able to do it, huh?

Thus encouraged, I concentrated, groped the intricate tracing, and touched the links somewhat haphazardly. Suddenly I heard a gasp and Shokinori turned around. He had put one hand to his neck—where he kept the Black Opal, perhaps?—and he held out his other hand to me.

“Give me that back, kid.”

We were already almost in front of the tavern, a beautiful, bright building of nail-pinchers. I stopped and looked at the hobbit’s hand, annoyed. I couldn’t help but look innocent.

“Give what back?” I asked.

Yabir turned in his turn and cleared his throat as he understood the problem.

“It is not yours, boy. This orb belongs to the Great Library of Yadibia.”

My face darkened. It wasn’t right. The Purple Orb had been made by a nakrus, a necromancer, and it made sense that it belonged to another necromancer, right? Perhaps seeing the look on my face that I was looking for arguments, Shokinori insisted, holding out his hand. My brother hissed.

“Ashig. Give that back.”

I looked into the bearded man’s eyes, and as I saw that he was approaching, I returned the purple stone to Shokinori. My heart broke. And my eyes filled with tears, but I swallowed them, clenched my teeth, and… I couldn’t bear it, I took Little Wolf and left.

They did not pursue me at once, and I thought for a moment that they really did not care what I did with my life. I had helped them to look for the bones, and I couldn’t help them anymore. So they forgot about me. As usual, right? But then, as I was already climbing the Hippodrome hill towards Sheer Cliff Street, Kakzail caught up with me.

“Draen.”

It was the first time he called me by my real name. Well, more like the name everyone called me except him and Samfen. I put Little Wolf down, turned around, and watched my brother approaching from the shadows. The light from a distant street lamp allowed me to see his face, but I couldn’t make out much about his state of mind.

“I told you, if you go back with that gang, goodbye family. Remember?” he asked.

I nodded mechanically. I could hear the rumor of the Timid River flowing down the Rock, and the distant voices on the Haven Walkway. And the winter breeze that made me shiver. And a bell. And a muffled laugh… And a sigh. My brother’s.

“Actually, let’s do it like that,” he said then. “You can go now. I’ll give you one day. One day for you to decide. If by tomorrow night you have not come to see me, then our parents, Skelrog…and I will make no further effort on your behalf. Father will give your description to the police, as the law commands, and he will tell them to arrest you if they see you, but you will not go to the barber shop or to a school: you will go to the charity house. Just like any vagrant gwak.” He paused and added, “If you come tomorrow, if you trust me, I will treat you as a brother, I will do everything in my hands, and Father and Mother too.”

I shook my head and protested:

“You said they’d send me to a youth center. That’s not treating me like the others. I don’t want to be locked up. I’m not crazy. I’m not a murderer.”

I fell silent as Kakzail crouched in front of me and assured:

“And no one thinks you’re crazy, Ashig. Just… you still have a lot to learn, and our parents can’t give you all the time you need. They work. They have to feed the family. That’s why they think it’s best for you to learn good manners in a special center. Just for a few moons maybe, no more, until the teachers think you’ve given up the bad habits. Trust me, boy. Our parents only want the best for their kids. All their kids. Including you. If they can’t give you a future, it won’t be their fault. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed and nodded again. Kakzail cleared his throat.

“I feel like, if I let you go now, you’re not going to come back… But I’ve decided to trust you. You’re not a little kid anymore. I hope you can choose properly. Whatever you choose… you can’t go back on your the path you take.” He paused and straightened up, adding, “Think hard, Ashig. Think hard. You know I’m very bad at making speeches, so… I’m only telling you that it would make me very sad if you didn’t come to see me tomorrow.”

He patted me on the shoulder, smiled at me and, without further ado, turned his back on me, and walked away. And I remained as silent as a wall. But inside me, a battle of a thousand demons was being waged. My companions against my family. My present against my future. What a horrible dilemma, huh? But that’s exactly what it was about.

I walked away up the hill, and Little Wolf followed me. I shuffled along, as if I were dragging a heavy chain. Finally, I arrived at Sheer Cliff Street and huddled at the foot of the stone parapet overlooking the ravine. Without even thinking about it, I grabbed Little Wolf, and he, who unlike me was very calm, sat down beside me, obediently. Then I buried my head in my arms and closed my eyes, my head on fire. Kakzail was so kind! And so was Samfen. And then Skelrog, the schoolmaster. By inference, my parents must have been, too. And the others. My whole family were good people. And they wanted me to learn, they offered me a future! The more I thought about it, the more tears rolled down my cheeks. Because my friends were good people too. And they were all the family I had had up to that point, not counting Yal and Rolg. They were my brothers. Manras and Dil, the Priest, Diver… Just the thought of leaving them forever tore me up inside. It runs, Kakzail said he would feel sad if I didn’t show up the next day at his house, but right now, I was feeling much worse than that! Because I didn’t know what to do, because no matter what I did, my happiness was going to go to hell.

Little Wolf was worried about me and tried to get me to play with the Master, but to no avail. I did not raise my head once. Suddenly, I felt a cold nose and a dog’s breath, and without even looking at Dakis, I knelt down, wrapped my arms around his neck, and continued to cry.

‘Stop crying, Mor-eldal. It’s no use.’

The voice of my nakrus master echoed in my head. It was so clear that, for a moment, I thought the mist hellhound had talked to me. But no, it was the harmonies. It was my damned head playing tricks on me again.

“I’m lost, Dakis,” I sobbed. “Why do people always want us to choose between two things? Why can’t we live without choosing? I hate choosing,” I stammered.

I was lost. I wanted to go away, to leave all this mess and go to… go to… An idea came to me, and I almost calmed down at once. The idea thrilled me. It dazzled me. I could not come to a conclusion, so why not ask for advice? And I knew of only one person who could give me the perfect advice.

I stepped away from the hellhound and wiped my eyes, smiling. I had found the solution. I glanced at the Master that Little Wolf was playing with, and breathed out in relief.

“I’m going home.”

9 The Hellhound, the Prince, and the Riding Gwak

The sun was just coming up, when, ready, with stick in hand, warm boots, woolen trousers, gloves, two coats, and a magara to make a fire plus a whole bag of provisions bought in the Cat Quarter, I landed in the alley outside Swift’s refuge and raised my hand:

“I love you all, comrades! I’m leaving. Cronies, I’m leaving. Be careful of Braggart and don’t waste the money that’s left; when I come back, I want you to invite me for a drink. Ayo, Priest,” I smiled.

Rogan was standing in the alley. I gave him a gwak hug, but in a more serious way, for this was a very serious farewell. As we parted, the Priest took off his top hat, and as I looked on in amazement, he exchanged it for my cap.

“May it bring you luck, my friend. Don’t forget us.”

All this time, I had been fighting tears, but now I could not hold back. When a kindred spirit offered you his most precious treasure, it was hard not to be moved. And I was very deeply moved. I breathed heavily and stammered:

“I will not forget you, Priest. Even if a witch puts a spell on me. And neither you, shyurs. Nor anyone…”

“Come on, come on, Sharpy!” Swift laughed, landing in the alleyway. “You’ll make us all cry if you keep on. Take those bones to your old man and talk to him. Let him unscramble your head and unscramble it well. And then, as your good friend here would say, let it be as the Spirits will.” The kap ruffled my hair, his eyes smiling. “Ayo and good luck, namesake.”

I took a deep breath, and understanding that it was best that I leave at once, without further ado, I gave my hand to Little Wolf.

“Ayo and good fortune.”

And I walked away down the slope, dragging the little one behind me. I had decided to take him with me, because I was sure that, if Coldpalm had not been able to cure his bone disease, my nakrus master could. He could do anything. He was my master.

I had not reached the end of the street when Manras rushed up behind me shouting:

“Sharpy! Sharpy!”

I stopped, and the little dark elf caught up with me, his eyes wide.

“What is it?” I asked.

He bit his lip, embarrassed.

“You didn’t hug me.”

I huffed, mocking. He was a big liar. But I hugged him anyway. And as Dil came trotting up, I did the same to him and said:

“You demorjed huggy gwaks. Come on, don’t get on my bones. Really, you guys. Don’t forget to stop by Yal’s house and say ayo for me, huh? And now I’m leaving for good. Come on, hook it.”

And before Manras could insist that he, too, wanted to travel to the snowy mountains and freeze with me in forests full of wolves, lynxes, and six-headed monsters, I gave him a gentle push, grabbed Little Wolf again, and left, this time for good, pressing my stick into the mud of the Cats like a conqueror.

I had barely arrived at the second crossing when I came upon the mist hellhound, and seeing him worried me a little. During all my preparations, he had stood there, listening to my reasoning, witnessing my bargaining with the Labyrinth merchants, but when I had returned to the shelter to sleep and regain strength for the impending journey, Dakis had vanished. And now… now he was back.

I raised my eyes and looked for the hobbits, but I did not see them. Which, I must say, was a relief.

“Did you come by yourself?” I asked.

The hellhound smiled at me. I shrugged my shoulders and walked on. Instead of stopping me, Dakis walked beside me. Together we walked out of the Cats, through Tarmil, past the Evening Park, through the market, and to the Red Docks of Riskel. There was a small dirt road between the Estergat river and a ravine. And from where I was, you could see the Imperial Road from which I had arrived a year and a half earlier. Perhaps for some, that was a short time, but for me it was a lifetime. In the valley, I had been a wild child, unaware of my own world; in Estergat, I had been just another gwak, lost in an ocean of souls. And now, between these two worlds, I was more lost than ever. But Elassar would save me.

I set foot on the Imperial Road and began to walk, Little Wolf on one side and the hellhound on the other. It was a wintry day, but sunny. Carriages were blocking the road, people were shouting, waving, swearing. And as I watched them, I suddenly began to think about the world I was supposed to be exploring. What had I actually explored? A capital city, a bunch of houses, but nothing but one city. I had not seen the seas, the deserts, and the distant lands that my master had sometimes told me about. However, I had an excuse: I had found sajits and made friends. And these friends did not have to explore the world as my master had asked me to do. And what’s more, I brought him the ferilompard bones. What more could he ask for? He would be exultant, for sure!

I was not sure which way I should go. I remembered crossing a bridge, and a Cat had told me that I must have gone over the Kief Bridge over the Solitary River, and that this great forest I had passed through must be the endless Arkolda Forest. From there, we had to go along the mountains, I knew that. And then we would come to the valley. And then… I hoped my memories would help me. The squirrels would help me, I thought. And that thought brought a hopeful smile to my face.

We had been walking for about three hours—from Estergat, and now along the Imperial Road—when, tired of carrying and putting down Little Wolf, I decided to take a break. I gave the blond boy a piece of bread with cheese on it, prepared another for myself, and after a moment’s hesitation, took another piece of bread and handed it to the hellhound.

“Are you hungry?”

Dakis responded by delicately accepting the food and gulping it down. Whoa. If he ate at this rate, our provisions would melt away in two days. I chewed my own portion and, after a silence, asked:

“Why aren’t you with Shokinori? Did you fall out with him or something?”

I felt waves of brejic energy reaching me, and I pouted disappointedly, not understanding anything.

“Too bad my master didn’t teach me brejic energy. Because I can’t hear you,” I admitted. I shrugged and smiled. “But that’s okay. Little Wolf doesn’t talk either, and I understand him ragingly well. And I’m glad you’re here, with me, and with the little one. I don’t know how long the trip will last. Yarras says it’ll take us a long time to get to Gistea. Maybe half a moon or more. And my master lives in the mountains. We’ll have to go up and up… and then back again. Maybe you’ll get tired of it and leave me along the way, eh?”

I looked at him, grimly. He looked back at me with a serene gaze. I confessed:

“I wish you would come all the way. I’d feel a lot more comfortable. Because you don’t know how many bad guys there are out there. Did you see the scar a lynx left me once? I won’t show it to you now because it’s cold. But it would have popped me off if I hadn’t—well—if I hadn’t used the tricks my master taught me.”

I let the air out of my lungs slowly as I turned my gaze to the Imperial Road. By now the traffic had calmed down, though carts still passed regularly. After a moment, I stirred and stood up.

“Come on, Little Wolf, get up. Don’t be a dawdler.”

But Little Wolf kept dawdling: he was tired, his eyes filled with tears, he sat on the grass and stamped. He got me on my nerves. I insisted, and finally was about to give up and sit down again, when the hellhound pulled me by the sleeve and demanded my attention. I saw him stand up and then point his snout at his back, he repeated the same gesture several times, turned his head towards a rider who was passing on the Imperial Road and… suddenly I thought I understood him. I laughed out loud at the suggestion.

“You want me to put Little Wolf on your back?”

The huge hellhound lay down, and after a moment’s hesitation, I calmed the little wolf down, took him in my arms and perched him on Dakis. Dakis got up, and I laughed at the astonished expression of Little Wolf. I swallowed hard when I saw the hellhound turn his back on me and invite me to… get on too.

“Goo-good mother,” I stammered. “Is it really okay if I…?”

I hesitated, but the hellhound insisted, so I put my stick over my shoulder with the straps of my bag and made up my mind. When I grabbed his fur, he did not protest. I pulled myself up on his back, behind Little Wolf. My feet did not touch the ground. Oh. Blast. Hell. I was on Dakis’ back! I could not believe it. Then the beast started to walk. I laughed at the strangeness of it all. I felt like a nail-pincher on a horse, except that instead of a horse it was a mist hellhound.

Gradually Dakis quickened his pace, trotting north. He was not betraying me: he really wanted to help me get back to my master! I was exultant, perched on his back, clutching his neck and half crushing a Little Wolf who was as amazed as I was. In the early afternoon, we crossed the Kief Bridge under the astonished eyes of the sajits, and I addressed them a radiant smile under my top hat. We passed through Hishiwa’s village, and I turned my head several times to see if I recognized his mother, but I saw only faces that turned toward me and pointed with stunned and amused expressions. I probably didn’t look as good as the Dragon Slayer Knight on his white horse, but that was all right, because nothing but trouble happened to that knight, and besides, he was a nail-pincher, and I didn’t want to be mistaken for a nail-pincher.

Dakis continued to walk at the same pace, as if he was not getting a bit tired. After several hours, I began to worry. Didn’t he need to take breaks? As night fell, I said to him:

“Hey, Dakis, don’t you need to rest a little?”

For a moment, I thought he hadn’t heard me, but then the beast stopped his steady course, made two or three turns, slowed down, and, sticking out his tongue, smiling, stopped. I jumped to the ground, grabbed Little Wolf, and laughed.

“It was so much fun! I still can’t believe it!”

I hugged Dakis, stroked him, scratched his ears, and he welcomed all this petting with obvious pleasure.

“Well,” I said then, yawning. “We need to find a good place to sleep. I used to sleep in the trees when I was travelling, but I don’t know, I don’t know… maybe there’s a charitable person around, don’t you think?”

And so we went to a barn on top of a hill. But when I got to the top, what I saw made me forget everything else: there, in the distance, was the edge of Arkolda Forest. I shook my head in disbelief.

“I still can’t believe I made it out alive.”

And, snapping out of my meditation, I pulled Little Wolf and entered the barnyard. I heard barking and stiffened when I saw two dogs, but I relaxed when I saw them quiet and wagging their tails. I glanced curiously at the hellhound and gave a smiling pout. Dakis was imposing.

I found a small stable with a donkey and a pile of straw. After hesitating whether or not to ask the owners of the house for permission, I snorted, shrugged my shoulders, and went to lie down on the straw, saying:

“We’re gonna crash here like kings!”

I shared the water in the wineskin with Little Wolf, we ate raisins, and I took out a black twig… At that moment, Dakis grunted and sniffed the rodaria root. I arched an eyebrow and handed it to him.

“Do you want some?”

Dakis blew, picked up the black twig, and threw it away. It landed in the dung. I made a face.

“Oh, well. Never mind. I got another one.”

I pulled the other one out, but to my dismay, Dakis did exactly the same with it, and the twig landed in the same place.

“Blasthell, I only had these two!” I protested. “I need them, Dakis, or I get hungry. I don’t understand what’s happening to you.”

Sitting on his hind legs, Dakis looked at me with a scolding look on his face, as if he was going to give me a lecture. Who knows what he was saying to me. I sighed loudly.

“I don’t understand, don’t insist.”

I got up and went to examine the dung. It was disgusting, but if I washed the sticks well, perhaps… The hellhound grabbed my arm with his teeth. He did not bite, but that still frightened me. I backed away as he let go of me, and returned to my bed of straw, my heart beating wildly.

“I-it runs,” I muttered. “I get it. You don’t like rodaria. You think it’s bad. But it’s not.”

Dakis huffed skeptically. I breathed in, and in spite of myself, made an abrupt move.

“All right, ayo rodaria. You win, isturbag. But only because you carry me on your back, because otherwise I would have gotten pissed, you know? But I forgive you. It’s all right,” I repeated.

And swallowing my irritation, I took the largest blanket out of the bag, lay down, listened to the sounds of the barn, and hoped that none of the owners had heard us speak. After a long silence, I whispered:

“Good night, Little Wolf. Good night, Dakis.”

Little Wolf snuggled up beside me, I pulled the blanket over him, and after glancing at Dakis, who was lying nearby, I wondered why he had wanted to help me. Was he watching me? Was he sent by Shokinori or was he coming of his own accord? Who knows.

I yawned, closed my eyes, and warming myself, leaning comfortably on the straw, I was carried away by a wonderful dream in which, riding on the back of a huge dragon, I flew and flew through the air and explored, not a city, but the whole world. My nakrus master sat behind me and said: Look at the world, Mor-eldal! But I was looking at him.

10 Back home

Oh, oh, oh, the swallow goes,
flying, flying on the wind,
from nest to nest, without knowing
where it’s going!

“Oh! Oh! Where it’s going!” I repeated, bawling at the top of my lungs.

Great puffs of steam were coming out of my mouth. It was because of the cold. In front of me, Little Wolf, wrapped in the warm blanket, was watching me intently. The day before, all his interest had been taken up by the snow. As soon as Dakis had let us get down, he had started to touch it, his fingers had turned red with cold, and I had wrapped him up in such a way that the little one had not been able to untangle himself and had remained so, wrapped up all night. Every time I looked at him, I couldn’t help but smile.

That morning, the sky was clear, which I was glad about. We had been travelling for seven days, and it had only rained during the two days that we had been through the great forest. It seemed that the Spirits were on our side. Perhaps Rogan’s prayers were working. Besides, after I had collected the twenty crowns from the Crypt, I had given a siato to a blind beggar whom I thought was a good man, for Rogan said that giving money to beggars brought good luck. Of course, when I told him, the Priest laughed at me, explaining that that only applied when he, himself, was begging. But who cared! Nevertheless, he had praised my generosity and predicted a happy and uneventful journey. Well, so far, everything had gone well. The only hitch: on the third day, the magara for making fire had stopped working. I felt cheated by the Labyrinth merchant who had sold it to me, but not surprised: these things were as unreliable as a merchant. That is why I had brought a bottle of phosphorus and a firestone. A good gwak always had to have several streets to escape to.

“Today, we’re going up even higher!” I announced, stopping singing and closing the bag. “Everyone’s ready? Dakis! How are your paws? Feeling well? If you get tired, you say so, eh. Let’s go!”

We climbed on his back, and his muscular legs began to move. We were almost there, or so I kept telling myself. We had travelled a great distance in seven days, thanks to the hellhound, and we were already in the midst of the mountains which bordered the valley of Evon-Sil. I looked around for a landmark, for something that would bring back my memories… but I could find nothing. My impatience grew by the hour, I forgot to sing, I tried to remember, and once I even shouted a shrill “Elassar!”, hoping perhaps that my master would hear me and show his skull between the snowy trees. But my cry died, and only the continuous and discreet sound of the hellhound’s footsteps on the snow remained.

Dakis didn’t like the snow and the cold, probably because in the Underground there was no winter. Nevertheless, he didn’t grumble much, because Little Wolf and I cuddled him, we played with him, I scratched his ears and sang happy songs to him… And, well, he couldn’t complain about his riders. And to think that, before, I used to run away every time I saw him and my harmonies would go crazy! Now, at night, I covered all three of us with the blanket, and we slept together, huddled by the fire, like comrades.

I smiled, and as the sun was already beginning to decline from the zenith towards the mountains ahead, I spotted a rocky peak peaking between the trees and threw out:

“Dakis, I’m getting down.”

I left Little Wolf in the care of the hellhound, and landing in the snow, I walked forward, scanning the trunks, looking for those Caeldric marks I used to leave on the bark to guide me when I was smaller. I found none.

I came to the small rocky peak and carefully climbed to the top. The view was very much as I remembered it. Trees and more trees covered the mountains with their bare branches and old trunks. I turned, for I was not looking for a landmark on the other side of the valley, I was looking for the Peak. I looked up and scanned the peaks for a while, when suddenly one of them caught my eye. I looked at it, frowned, shook my head, my heart beat faster, and I raised my hand.

“This is the Peak! Dakis, Little Wolf, it’s there!”

It was so incredible to see it in real life! The hellhound grunted as if to say, “Yeah, yeah, that’s all well and good, but be careful .” After gazing at the Peak for a moment longer, I came down and landed in the snow with a splutter:

“Almost there!”

We went on at a good pace, and I kept saying to myself, “We are almost there”. But I was only really sure when, with the sun already threatening to disappear behind the peaks, we crossed a half-frozen stream and I saw a mark on the bark of a nearby tree. I recognized it and gave an exclamation of joy.

“Dakis, Little Wolf, I did this! I did this! For real. We’ll get there before nightfall, for sure. Come on, comrades!”

I was trembling with excitement. I began to walk in front of the hellhound. When the sky began to darken, my spirits did not wane: on the contrary, I was getting more and more excited. At last, I saw the famous tree which had once been my favorite: there I had met my first squirrel friend, and in that same tree, the yarack had given me its yellow feather the day before I left. Recognizing its branches and its bulky trunk, I inhaled the cold air and intoned in a joyful voice:

Larilan, larilon,
Hey, Spring,
Come out now,
Bombumbim,
How nice, it is spring!
Larilan, larilon…

My bawling child’s voice broke the serene silence of the mountain. I hurried up the slope and saw, hidden between two blocks of snow, the entrance to the cave. In front of it stood a skeletal figure in a dark green cloak. I was on the point of fainting with happiness. I cried out:

“Elassar!”

I sped up, skated through the snow, and nearly fell over. I recovered my balance with alacrity, and having lost my top hat, I did not even bother to pick it up: I continued to run while my master laughed. The nakrus opened his white arms.

“Elassar!” I repeated, panting.

I went to him and hugged him, unable to believe that at last—at last!—I had come home. He protested:

“Hey, watch my old bones. Little one!” he cried then, running a skeletal hand over my head. “I didn’t expect you so soon. But tell me, are the sajits so horrible that you’d come back with a grumpy old man like me? Bah, bah, bah, how glad I am to see you again! You must have so much to tell me…”

His singular nakrus voice rang in my ear like the best of songs. His magical eyes had turned away, and I recognized a glint of annoyance mixed with curiosity. He asked:

“Are you bringing visitors?”

I turned, saw the hellhound with Little Wolf perched on it, stopped at a distance. Dakis had retrieved my top hat with his teeth. I smiled broadly and waved them over, introducing them cheerfully:

“This is Dakis and Little Wolf.”

The nakrus’ eyes widened in amusement.

“I suppose Dakis is the marmot, and Little Wolf is the quadruped.”

I laughed.

“No! It is the opposite. Dakis is a mist hellhound. He comes from the Underground. And so does Little Wolf… Well, but no one must know. The little one has a disease in his bones, and Coldpalm—She’s the necromancer magician who got smoked in autumn,” I explained hastily. “Well, Coldpalm gave him to me to take care of him—”

“Hold on, son, hold on,” my master stopped me, slowly raising a skeletal hand. He stepped aside and gestured. “Welcome, all of you, let us get inside and talk, but with calm, Mor-eldal. If you start eating your words, I won’t understand you.”

I nodded vigorously and exclaimed:

“I’m bringing the ferilompard bones!”

My master looked at me, his eyes squinting.

“What did you say?”

I sighed. Was I really talking so fast that he couldn’t understand me? I said:

“I say I’m bringing the fe-ri-lom-pard bones.”

My master shook his skull.

“Really?” He looked incredulous. He entered the cave and carefully sat down on his large trunk, repeating with amazement, “Ferilompard bones? And where did you find them, son?”

“In the Storm Hills!” I exulted and coughed as I received Dakis’ curious look. Imitating Rogan’s theatricality, I retrieved the top hat and corrected, “Actually, no. I found them in a palace. Look, look.”

And as Dakis lay back comfortably in the cave and Little Wolf sat looking around curiously, I opened the bag and rummaged about, overexcited at the thought of giving the bones to my master. I was so happy at that moment! I took them out, put them on the trunk beside him, and pointed at Little Wolf.

“He has a few too.”

That said, I stood silent, expectant, while my master examined the bones. His magical eyes glowed intensely. When he put on that expression, he could stay absorbed for quite a while, so after a while I turned my gaze to the cave. The three books and the mirror were still there. I bit my lip and motioned to Little Wolf to come closer. He came over, and I sat him down beside me. So as not to disturb my master during his inspection, I spoke to him in a low voice:

“You know what a mirror is, don’t you? No? Well, look, there’s one right here in front of you. It was Elassar who explained to me that, if you raise your right hand, it shows you the left one, you get it?”

Seeing the blond boy watching his own reflection, eyes widened, I scoffed:

“Scary, huh?”

I ruffled his hair, and checking that my master was still focused, I took the storybook and showed it to Little Wolf with emotion.

“Look at these drawings,” I whispered.

And I showed him the dragon, the cat, the mouse, the dog, and the pretty house with the mill. And while I let the little one turn the pages carefully, I glanced regularly at my master, waiting for his reaction, looking for some sign that he was happy with the bones I had brought him. I thought I saw a flash of indignation and tensed up, suddenly worried. Did he not like my bones? I saw his eyes take on various expressions, he even chattered his teeth two or three times and, increasingly anxious, I finally broke the silence and asked:

“Elassar? Elassar, don’t you like them?”

The nakrus lifted his chin, and his eyes did a complete turn in their sockets, mocking.

“You mean the bones? It’s a marvel, Mor-eldal. A pure marvel. But I wasn’t admiring the bones just now,” he admitted. “I was learning how stupid sajits can be. And Dakis seems to agree with me on that,” he observed, his eyes smiling.

I frowned, puzzled, and looked at the hellhound and the nakrus in turn, and then… I understood.

“Good mother!” I exclaimed. “Dakis has been telling you things without me knowing? That’s cheating. I wanted to tell you everything in my own way. That’s cheating,” I repeated.

I felt betrayed, but from the mocking expression on the hellhound’s face, he didn’t seem to care. I sighed. My master laughed.

“Don’t be angry! Just because your friend tells me about your adventures in the world doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear them from your own mouth, son. On the contrary. Tell me all about it. In the meantime, I’m going to warm your blankets, because it’s going to get dark, and you don’t want to be cold. I know how shivery the living are.” He winked at me. “Come on, give me those blankets and talk. Talk all you want. For once, I promise not to ask you to be quiet, Mor-eldal. A necromancer keeps his word. Tell me,” he encouraged me.

I smiled at the prospect, gave him the two blankets, the large and the small, and leaving Little Wolf busy with the drawings, I sat down at the foot of the trunk, wrapped my legs around me, and gazed at my master as he lit the lantern. A warm light filled the interior of the cave. There was almost total silence. Then my master took the large blanket and began to cast spells. After watching him for a while, I said:

“Well. Well, then, I’ll tell. But it’s going to take a long time, eh? I have a lot to tell. A lot of things! I’m gonna make you bestial dizzy, Elassar,” I warned him. I smiled broadly as he gave me a mocking look of defiance. So I went for it.

It was a chaotic, exuberant narrative, full of corrections, contradictions, digressions, blunders, and boasts. I spoke of Mama, of my meeting with Yal—“my cousin, a great guy, I wish you knew him”—and I told of my unbelievable heroic feat: I saved the Nail-pincher! Can you believe it, Elassar? I took the jaodaria out of his body, as you did with me, and saved his life. Spirits, I can’t tell you what an isturbag he was, killing himself like that! All for the sake of a few words, can you believe it? But it so happened that… I went off at a tangent, rambling on, and after a while, I jumped at the Wada and said: “And then Korther gave it back to that nail-pincher, I don’t understand! But, well, I pinched it, and everything went smoothly,” I assured him. And I began to tell him about my comrades. I summed up my captivity in the salbronix mine by saying: I spent two moons there, it was a hell of a time, really, but then Manras brought us the key to the gate, as I had asked him to do, and we went out throwing stones! I laughed, remembering it, and spoke of the alchemist, the sokwata, and my time in prison. Cursed coachman who almost smoked Manras and me! But no harm came without good: I had met Le Bor. And ah, by the way! I didn’t tell you about the Purple Orb. Dakis knows about it, because he came with learned hobbits who were looking for the Orb… And I explained to him its powers, that it was none other than Marevor Helith who had made it… Imagine! I held it in my hands, to look for the bones of the ferilompard, because I stole them from the Palace, but then a son of a rat filched them from me, what, a little more than a week ago? It was wonderful! I exclaimed. And I continued to talk and talk. Only at rare moments did I get stuck, not knowing what to say, and then my master would ask me questions about what some particular word meant, or who this one was and who that one was, and you could see that he was eager to understand all my verbiage, and I was even more eager to see him understand.

At some point—I don’t know how I got there—I explained to him the enormous dilemma that Kakzail had posed for me, and said in an already hoarse and tired voice:

“I don’t know what to do, Elassar. My older brother says I have to choose between my mates and the barber, and Swift says that sure as hell you know how to unscramble my head. But… the truth is, I don’t want to talk about that right now,” I muttered. “The sajit world is so… complicated,” I yawned. “I like it a lot, Elassar. But sometimes there are sad things. Good people die. And there are monsters worse than the ones in the mountains. In the gang, they say I am a magician and that I know many things. I didn’t tell them that, actually, I don’t know anything. You think I should? Well, sometimes I love to brag, I can’t help it. But the truth is, I don’t understand the world. And I know I never will. But not because I’m small, eh, ’cause I know that, even if I had white hair, I wouldn’t be able to understand it. People are so strange, and at the same time, Estergat is so beautiful. I love it very much, Elassar. I know as much. I like the street very much, and the carts with the horses, and also the store windows. They are beautiful…”

I yawned. My eyes were closing. I was leaning against the trunk, protected by the warm blanket the nakrus had prepared for us. Little Wolf had been asleep for a long time, and the light of the lantern shone softly on his pale childish face. Dakis lay stretched out under the blanket and yawned with me. I could hardly keep awake, but I had to keep talking, I still had so much to tell. And yet I was so tired!

Then I felt my master’s bony hand remove the top hat and say in a soft voice:

“You made me wonderfully dizzy, Mor-eldal. You don’t know how happy I am to hear you speak. But, now, it is time to sleep, little one. Don’t worry: tonight I’ll watch over you and Little Wolf and Dakis. Go on, sleep in peace.”

I nodded, half asleep, lay down completely, and as my master extinguished the lantern, I murmured:

“Elassar. I don’t know if you know, but… I missed you a lot.”

I saw his green eyes in the total darkness. I heard him whisper:

“Me too, little one. Now you’re home. And you can stay as long as you like.”

I was speechless. As long as I liked?

“For real?” I muttered.

His eyes smiled.

“For real. And now go to sleep, little one. Good night.”

I closed my eyes, smiled, and before I could even think of saying “good night” back to him, I fell sound asleep under the warm blanket, accompanied by a little boy, son of kings, a mist hellhound, and a nakrus who was watching over us, sitting on his big chest, in this cave lost in the middle of the snowy mountains… At home.

11 My master’s secret

“There, there, behave yourself, shyur. Dakis, what are you doing? Move aside, otherwise it does not work. Come on. Good. And now…”

I pushed the sled, climbed up, and shouted:

“Yoo-hoo!”

We slid on the snow and went down the slope faster and faster. Little Wolf laughed silently, I shouted and tried to drive the sled, as my master had done with me in the past. Finally, we came to a place with too much snow, and we got stuck. We had gone barely a hundred feet. But, well, that was something! I got off the sled quickly and asked:

“Did you like it, Little Wolf? Eh? Did you like it?”

I didn’t need oral confirmation: Little Wolf’s face was beaming.

“Well, let’s do it again then!”

I pulled the sled up the hill with Little Wolf on it. Dakis circled around us, wagging his tail, having realized that it was all a game. We were all anxious to move: a storm had kept us from going out for days, and until the snow had settled down a bit, it had been impossible to try the sled. However, that day was perfect!

When we reached the top of the hill, I saw my master sitting on a rock a little way off watching us. He was pensive. He was often pensive, but I felt that lately he was more so than in the past. I smiled at him and said:

“Look at this, Elassar!”

I raised my hands and, bending over, thrust them into the snow, and raised my feet to the sky, shouting:

“It was my cousin who taught me! Look, look! I can walk on my hands, and whenever we race, I beat all my comra…”

Crash! I fell flat on my face trying to get a hand out to take a step. My fall was cushioned by the snow, and I stood up, snorting and finishing:

“Comrades.”

The nakrus was laughing—his jaw opened and closed rhythmically. I rolled my eyes, turned to the sled… and blurted out:

“You, blasthell of blasthells!”

Little Wolf had just kicked the snow, I don’t know if to stand up or what, but the sled started to slide down the hill. I got up, tried to catch him, slipped, and fell with my legs sprawled open. And Little Wolf kept going down. Dakis went behind him, his hind legs skidded, he tried to regain his balance and could not. Finally, the sledge stopped, and Little Wolf looked around like a chick lost in the snow. I burst out laughing.

“What a demorjed… Don’t move, I’m coming!” I shouted at him.

And Dakis and I carefully made our way down to the sled. Dakis got there first, and I had just enough time to catch a glimpse of a lightning grey shadow in the snow before it disappeared behind a tree. I breathed in, amazed. It was…

“A squirrel!” I exclaimed. “Little Wolf! Did you see the squirrel? Of course you have seen it, it even came to see you, right? They’re my friends, do you want me to introduce you to them?”

I picked up Little Wolf, and we walked towards the tree trunk where the squirrel had disappeared. I sang: “Squirrel, squirrel, come my friend, come!”. It did not come. I sighed.

“That’s what happens when you leave for a long time: the squirrels change and they don’t recognize you anymore.”

Little Wolf looked up at me questioningly and smacked his lips. He used to do that when there was something he didn’t understand and wanted to understand. Except that, at that moment, I didn’t quite understand what he wanted to know. I shrugged my shoulders.

“The squirrels I knew loved to play with me, and they would show me their acorns,” I explained. “You don’t know what acorns are, do you? Hmm… Well, it’s food. I used to share berries with them in the summer too: they loved them. Ah, but they didn’t like crayfish… A crayfish is a small black thing with a shell and claws, you know what I mean? It doesn’t matter: it’s delicious. Let’s see if we can find a squirrel. Squirrels!” I suddenly shouted. My voice tore through the morning air. “It’s me, Mor-eldal, don’t you remember me?”

Obviously, no, they didn’t remember me. I continued to call to my friends as I walked between the trees with the little one. Dakis soon grew weary and turned back, probably to return to the cave and escape the snow. After a while, a squirrel with very dark fur poked its head out from a branch. I pointed to it and whispered:

“There, there, you see it?”

Little Wolf nodded, and I smiled broadly as I approached and thought I recognized the squirrel. He had a tuft of black hair standing on his head.

“It’s Fufu!” I said, laughing.

I was half laughing at myself for feeling so moved by the encounter. And as the squirrel remained at a distance, I called to him in song. At last, to my relief, he came over for good, climbed down the trunk with lightning speed, and perched on a root. I whispered:

“Ayo, Fufu.”

The squirrel recognized me and came forward. Then, Little Wolf took a step towards him… and Fufu ran away.

“Oh,” I said, surprised, and then, rolling my eyes, I ruffled a bewildered Little Wolf’s hair. “It’s natural, shyur. It’s a squirrel. And squirrels are even more chicken than chickens themselves.”

I fell silent, biting my cheek. Seeing that squirrel again had really confused me… Instead of reminding me of my games with the other squirrels in the valley, it had reminded me of my companions in Estergat. I had already left them for… about twenty days, including the journey. What day was it exactly? I didn’t know. I hadn’t bothered to think about such things… But now it seemed important. And if it seemed important, did it mean that I had ceased to be quite the wild child of the valley who did not know what an hour was or what a watch was? Did it mean that my life here, with master, was not what I wanted? I, who had so often dreamed of being able to return with a ferilompard bone, to turn into a nakrus and follow in my master’s path!

But, on second thought, what was my master doing? He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, he hardly needed to feed himself with the morjas of the bones, he had three books that he knew by heart, and he had contemplated the stars for hours and hours… What else did he do?

How disturbing it was to think about, and even more so to consider the possibility that in the end my master’s way of life did not suit me. I, for one, could not live happily just looking at the stars and sitting on a trunk. That was fine for a nakrus who had lived a thousand, two thousand years and didn’t care to spend a whole year figuring out the most profitable way to move the distal phalanx of the little toe. And I wasn’t like that. I felt more gwak than necromancer, and more alive than dead. And a real gwak lived among sajits, not in a lost cave.

I shook my head, confused at my own reflections, and as Little Wolf stirred in my arms, I stretched and said:

“Well, let’s go back to the sled, shyur. Come on.”

On the way back, I noticed that more than one squirrel had approached. Had they come to greet me, alerted by the black squirrel to my presence? Perhaps. But I didn’t feel like playing with them anymore. My thoughts had disturbed me: I felt the urgency to speak with my master.

As I emerged from between the trees, I saw that the nakrus was no longer sitting on the rock. I took the sled and climbed heavily up the slope. Despite the many layers I wore, the cold seeped through like a treacherous snake. I arrived at the cave, put Little Wolf down, put the sled away, and found my master staring at the mirror. I tilted my head to one side, curious, but I did not want to interrupt him. I took off my boots, then those of Little Wolf, wrapped us in the warm blanket and shared with the little one the leftover lentils I had cooked the night before. I still had provisions for, perhaps, two weeks. Then it would be almost spring, the snow would not be so heavy, and it would be easier to find roots, insects, and… anyway, I didn’t have to worry about food. Even less if I decided to leave again.

I turned nervously to my master. He looked so serene… But I had to ask him.

I scratched my head, put the top hat back on, took it off, and was already opening my mouth when my master seemed to come out of his meditation, he turned his magic eyes towards me and broke the silence.

“Oh. Have you eaten yet? Good, good. Do you want me to keep healing Little Wolf?”

I nodded. After a few days of trial and error, my master had managed to figure out what was wrong with Little Wolf’s bones and why he couldn’t grow on his own, and since then he spent hours with the little one fixing his bones, one by one. It was a laborious task, but my master was capable of anything.

I took Little Wolf to the trunk and said:

“Elassar? You know, down there with the squirrels, I was thinking.”

My master’s eyes smiled.

“Unbelievable,” he scoffed.

I shrugged my shoulders without losing my seriousness.

“I’m serious, Elassar. I was thinking about… about you. And I can’t figure it out, Elassar. Don’t you get bored? Why do you always stay here, in this cave? Why don’t you go out and explore the world like I did?”

The nakrus laughed silently.

“Ah, what questions you ask of me, Mor-eldal,” he pronounced. “How do you know that I have not explored the world a hundred times before as you have? The more you know and the more you explore, the more you realize that, in the end, whatever you seek, you can find it without moving. And as I am a great lazy person and a great lover of the mountains, I stayed here, a few hundred kilometres from my native village which may no longer exist. I cannot have those ‘comrades’ you have. I already had them. And they are all dead. Time is unforgiving,” he assured in a serene voice.

He shook his head gently under my startled gaze. As far as I could remember, It was the first time he talked to me about the days he was alive. After a silence, I saw him reach for Little Wolf’s head, but I interrupted him.

“Narsh-Ikbal,” I said. “Is that your real name?”

My master gave a slightly wistful, muffled laugh.

“No. It’s one of many names I’ve had.”

“And what was your name when you were alive?” I asked. I swallowed under his suddenly bright eyes. “I mean… before you transformed. You get what I mean.”

The nakrus mimicked a sigh.

“That’s ancient history. Just imagine, living three thousand years and trying to remember what you did in the first century… My memory isn’t good enough,” he joked.

I widened my eyes in disbelief.

“So, you don’t remember when…? I mean… you don’t remember anything?”

“Hmm, that’s not quite true either,” my master replied. He seemed to be amused by my deeply curious expression. “Well. I remember three or four details. Nothing to do with your hectic gwak life, I’m afraid,” he smiled. “I had a life dedicated to study, in a monastery by a great river. I was taught arts that were not frowned upon in those days, depending on how they were used. Unfortunately, I made bad use of them. I ran away from the monastery to transform myself. And, strangely enough, it was only after I did that I really felt alive. But, once transformed, my memories become confused. You can’t be three thousand years old and not have memory lapses. But, anyway, son, the past matters little to a nakrus.”

I frowned thoughtfully, trying to imagine my master’s life, and then I asked:

“What about the future? Does that matter to you?”

The nakrus seemed to be enjoying the conversation.

“The future?” he repeated, amused. “Hmm. As my old friend Orferyum would say: there is no one more afraid of death than a nakrus. Yes, the future does matter to me, Mor-eldal. But yours matters more to me than mine.”

This made me turn my attention back to myself, and the thought that my master would at last give me an answer filled me with hope.

“So, you already know what I should do?” I inquired.

“What you should do? No, Mor-eldal. Only you know that,” he replied, raising a skeletal index finger at me. “What if I tell you to return with your family?” He paused, scrutinizing my reaction, and then added naturally, “Or go away to explore the world further, or stay with me and turn into a chatty little nakrus. What do you say, son? What do you really want? That is the key question. And in that, all I can do to help you is giving you my opinion.”

I looked at him, eyes wide open, holding my breath. So he had an opinion on the subject. But what was it? If he asked me to stay with him… would I listen? Of course I would. How would I leave my master against his will? That wouldn’t happen.

“What would you do?” I finally asked.

My master had placed a hand on the trunk, and Little Wolf was examining it with great attention, but the nakrus did not seem to notice: his eyes reflected a deep meditation.

“What would I do,” he repeated. “Probably something you would never do. And, if you did, it would be a mistake. I would run away,” he explained. “I would run away from the people I know and go where no one would tell me what to do. And, yet, Mor-eldal, running away in your case would be a mistake. I am a loner. A nakrus who died when he lived and who lived the best years of his life when he was already a pile of bones. But that’s not you, son. You are a boy who can be happier in one year than a nakrus in ten thousand years. My point is, you need to go back to Estergat. Whatever you do there, you must go back to that city.”

I nodded silently. Okay. It runs. I’d go back to Estergat, but then what? Perhaps guessing my thoughts, he added:

“Do not fear the future. Always be yourself. That’s the most important thing, Mor-eldal. Always be the person you love to be. It’s not always easy, but it’s the best reward you can give yourself.”

I blinked. Gosh. That sounded really serious.

“I don’t get it,” I admitted.

My master laughed.

“It’s all right. You’ll understand one day.”

Then he looked down at Little Wolf, put a hand on his head, and concentrated on healing the little one. I didn’t interrupt him, because I knew that these spells were ragingly difficult. I stood by in case Little Wolf became frightened, but with my master’s stun spell on him, he barely reacted, and his eyes always remained dazed throughout the session.

While my master was working, I noticed that Dakis was not there. Where had he gone? Out hunting, perhaps? From what my master had explained to me, mist hellhounds ate a little of everything: dirt, bark, insects… They also ate red meat, but apparently Dakis hadn’t eaten any since he was adopted by Shokinori when he was only six moons old. He was, as he said himself, a pacifist hellhound. According to what my master said, of course, because I, unfortunately, still couldn’t understand the brejic conversations between the nakrus and the hellhound.

“My boy,” my master suddenly called out. “I need a little more strength for this tracing.”

I helped him as best I could. I didn’t know what he was doing, but I knew how to follow his energy, and when he said “now”, I injected morjas at the same time as he did, and he modulated it somehow. It was exhausting, but we had ferilompard bones to recharge, and well, we didn’t lack a supply of morjas.

The sun had already passed the zenith when my master joyfully declared:

“It’s more or less finished! Well, there are probably still a few bones that aren’t quite there yet; tomorrow I’ll check, but, overall, I’d say this little one will be able to grow up all by himself and like an oak tree.”

I pulled Little Wolf to lay him down, smiling from ear to ear.

“That’s great!” I rejoiced. “For sure, Coldpalm would bless you. She told me that, if I didn’t take good care of Little Wolf, her spirit would come and punish me. But now she may well come and sanctify me!”

I laughed. Perhaps because of so many spells, the blond boy had fallen sound asleep. I left him bundled up and asked in increasing astonishment:

“Where’s Dakis, really?”

I walked away to the entrance of the cave and stood there, frowning. No matter how hard I looked, I could not see the hellhound. After a while, I came back inside and shrugged my shoulders.

“I hope he didn’t get lost,” I commented.

From his trunk, the nakrus scoffed:

“A mist hellhound getting lost? These creatures have better orientation than a map. Don’t worry, Mor-eldal: he’ll be back.”

He seemed so sure of it that I did not worry until nightfall, when I saw that Dakis still had not returned, but as my master did not mention it, I said to myself: well, perhaps that is normal. And I swallowed my worry. However, deep down, I couldn’t stop thinking that Dakis had abandoned me. I didn’t feel angry with him or anything. I felt rather pained. The next morning, not seeing him, I shouted his name all over the hill. Nothing happened. I tried to convince myself that, if he had left, it was because of the cold and because he missed Shokinori, not because he was bored with us. After an hour, I decided to leave Little Wolf in the cave with my master and go looking for him.

“You’re not going to find him, Mor-eldal,” my master warned me.

“It didn’t snow last night, sure I can see his footprints,” I reasoned.

“Then I can tell you where his footprints go,” the nakrus assured quietly. “Nothing could be simpler: they go downward and toward the rising sun. But go ahead and check it out for yourself.”

I gave him a frown.

“You said he would come back.”

“Ha! He will,” my master assured me cheerfully. “But he will not come back alone.”

These last words left me standing at the entrance to the cave, stick in hand. What did he mean, he wouldn’t come back alone? That… that meant that…

“Blasthell and cinders!” I exclaimed in disbelief. “Shokinori and Yabir are coming here, right? But… and, you, you know that? How long have you known? And… and how do they know they have to come all the way here?”

“All good questions,” the nakrus asserted, his eyes kindly mocking. “Yes, the hobbits will come. Yes, I knew it, and have known it since the first day you came, when Dakis told me that he wore around his neck that Black Opal that caused you all so many adventures here and there. And since the hellhound must have left marks all along the way, those good Baïras must be about to arrive, and Dakis has gone to greet them. Don’t make that face!” he laughed. “You yourself said those hobbits didn’t do anything to you when they learned you were a necromancer. I don’t think I need to worry, and anyway, even if the rumor spreads that a terrible skeletal monster lives here, I don’t care because I’m going to leave this place.”

This last news more than anything else made me hiccup with amazement.

“You…you’re going to leave?” I repeated, my heart beating hastily. “What do you mean, you’re going to leave? Where to? To Estergat?” And as he shook his head, I added, more and more confused, “To Yadibia?”

“Whatever would I do in Yadibia, my dear?” my master mocked. “Yesterday you yourself asked me why I was still living in this cave. Well, I’ve been here almost five hundred years… maybe that’s a good reason to move around a bit. This summer, Marevor Helith suggested that we have a little reunion of old friends. I wasn’t planning on going because I thought I’d wait another hundred years for you, in case you came back, but since you’ve already come back… I told Marevor I’d go. He’s working on a series of monoliths to make the trip easier for me. I just hope I don’t lose an arm along the way in the Steppe of Corobia or who knows where!” he laughed.

I could not believe my ears. I was flabbergasted. I put down the stick, and with hesitant steps, walked back to the trunk, trying to figure out whether my master had lost his mind or he was being serious. And, unbelievable as it may seem, he was not joking.

“You aren’t going to say anything, my boy?” my master worried. “I thought that, since you were going back to Estergat, you would not mind if I left too.”

I shook my head.

“I… well… no. Of course not,” I stammered. “But… you’re not coming back?”

My master looked at me, left his trunk, and stood up. He was a good two heads taller than me. He was as tall as Korther, and I wondered if, like the Black Dagger kap, he had once been an elfocan. In any case, maybe Yerris was right when he said that I looked more like a gnome than a human, because of how slowly was I growing.

Instead of answering me, my master turned and crouched down, and with amazement and excitement, I saw him take out a golden key and put it into the lock of the chest. He had never, ever, wanted to tell me what was inside, let alone open it. Of course, I had tried to find out the great secret, I had cast perceptive spells, but to no avail, and I had even stolen the key once, but my master had caught me before I could get to the secret I was so excited to know.

I said nothing. I dared not speak a word. I watched intently as the nakrus turned the key in the lock and cast a spell. Then the lid of the chest opened like a spring. My master pushed it open, opened it wide, and uncovered… a pile of bones.

As I knelt, fascinated, by the trunk, my master warned me:

“Don’t touch.”

He pulled a small bag from a corner and took out a metal locket. It was identical to the one he wore around his neck, I observed.

“It belonged to Azlaria,” my master explained. His voice, usually quiet, amused and mocking, was now infused with deep feeling.

“Azlaria,” I repeated.

He had never mentioned anyone by that name, but it sounded as if it had been someone important to him. Then I felt a sudden chill. Those bones…

“Is that…Azlaria?” I asked in a hushed whisper.

My master nodded, his gaze fixed on the bones inside the chest.

“We lived together for almost two thousand years,” he related, regaining his composure. “An accident tore her away from me, and I swore I would find a way to revive her. But I stopped trying a long time ago. A nakrus that dies cannot be revived. Only liches can die twice.” He gave me a smiling look. “Not everyone can say they lived an idyllic love for two thousand years. She loved the mountains,” he added, this time turning his gaze toward the cave exit. “You’ll think it’s ridiculous, but for me… she was beautiful, oh, she was. At least for a nakrus. And anyway, back to what I wanted to tell you,” he added, swinging the locket. “We made these pendants together, and Marevor Helith helped us perfect them. Each pendant senses the mortic energy in contact with the other. And, through the pendant, one can cast mortic spells to help the other stay alive, for example. It didn’t work with Azla. It was too sudden and… I wasn’t paying attention. The concept has its flaws, but, regardless, if you wear it and touch it with your right hand, I’ll be able to know you’re okay… as soon as Marevor helps me fix the one I have. It’s broken. When it’s fixed, you’ll feel a small mortic jolt and you’ll know that I, your great master, am here, taking care of you from somewhere in Hareka,” he concluded, his eyes crinkling into a smile.

He passed Azlaria’s locket over my head. I was deeply moved. My master was offering me nothing less than a relic that had belonged to his lady!

“You’ll take good care of it, huh?” he asked me. I nodded vigorously, and he closed the trunk, joking, “If you lose it, don’t throw yourself into a ravine to get it either, eh. Old things get lost sometimes.”

“I’m not going to lose it, Elassar,” I promised, taking the medallion in my gloved mortic hand. I stared at the closed chest where I had seen her bones and affirmed, “I swear to you.” I blinked, turned to my master and added shyly, “Thank you!”

And I hugged him, for it broke my heart to think of that Azlaria and to imagine the pain of my master. So, after turning and turning my thoughts, when I stepped aside, I asked him:

“Can I go with you to that meeting?”

The nakrus made a sound of surprise mixed with a laugh.

“Do you really want to know the craziest people in all of Hareka, son?”

I shrugged mockingly.

“I already know you.”

“Ha! All the more reason for not knowing others like me,” my master assured. “I’m not going to shut the door on you. It is you who choose. But, when the monolith is ready, you, too, must be ready.”

I frowned. There you go, one more choice. Blasthell, always choices. But, deep down, I knew this one wasn’t realistic. Not because my master wasn’t capable of taking me over the monolith if I asked him to, but because I didn’t want to leave everything behind. Because I felt I had to help my family. Because I didn’t want to lose my cronies. I mean, for a lot of reasons. And I felt very responsible when I thought about all that, I felt like an older brother, almost like an adult, like a hero.

I looked down at the locket. It was circular, with designs engraved on it.

“Gosh… Are those Caeldric signs?” I asked.

“Four years spent teaching you Caeldric signs, and you ask me that?” the nakrus gasped. “They’re not in Caeldric. These are signs invented by Azlaria. She was an avid linguist and loved to create new alphabets.”

“What’s written there?” I inquired curiously.

The nakrus, of course, did not need to look at it to recite:

“Let there be peace and wisdom and love.” His magical eyes widened, and he added, shaking his skull, “I’m going for a walk.”

I nodded, but called to him as he was already leaving the cave.

“Elassar!” I hesitated, “How did you get to talk to Marevor Helith? I thought he was a professor at an academy, far away from here.”

“He was,” my master corrected. “Last winter, he roamed the Storm Hills in search of gahodal bones. And, now, he has taken it into his head to have a reunion of old friends. He wants to introduce me to an apprentice of his and toast to bones and ancient times and what have you. That good man doesn’t know how to keep still for two years.”

“But then… he came here?” I asked, confused.

“Marevor? No way. I communicate with him through the mirror. A relic too, but this one was made by none other than Marevor Helith’s master, may he rest in peace. The monoliths sent him to hell. Like I say, nakruses will do anything to escape death, but then they tend to be complete reckless fools. I don’t include myself, obviously,” he smiled. “The monoliths of Marevor Helith will have to be ninety-nine percent safe before I cross them. The risk is worth it!” Then he looked upward and added, “I think the hobbits will be here before long. Let me know if they appear: I’ll be on the star rock.”

And he walked away, with that rigid, characteristic gait of his. He soon disappeared from the entrance, and I sat down on the warm blanket beside Little Wolf. The little boy was sleeping placidly, completely cured by the best man in the world. By Elassar. Elassar, who was going to go far away while I would return among the sajits with the medallion of a lady nakrus around my neck.

I shook my head, smiling, lay down beside Little Wolf, and whispered:

“I think I got it, Little Wolf. The houses move with the people. My master leaves with his comrades. And me, with mine. And my family won’t send me to that youth center. Kakzail says my parents work to feed my brothers and sisters. Well then, I’ll bring them nails, so they won’t get angry. I’ll feed them. I can do it. And, that way, the barber won’t send me the flies, because he’ll be happy with me. I’m on the right track, ain’t I?” I muttered.

Still asleep, Little Wolf rolled over and clutched my coat. I bit my lip, and in a burst of confidence, confirmed aloud:

“You are ragingly on the right track, Mor-eldal.”

12 Should I open my own door?

The hobbits did not arrive until nightfall. I saw them coming, for I had gone to clean the bowls, and I stood watching for a moment, and saw the light of a lantern coming up between the trunks in the darkness.

I hastened to peek my head into the cave and said in an excited whisper:

“They’re coming!”

And off I went again, deeper into the snow, towards the light. I did not go far, only to the first tree, and waited impatiently. I was excited at the thought that my master would get to know the learned Baïras. And I hoped that the hobbits would not be frightened when they saw him.

Actually, I got frightened when I saw that the approaching figures were not just two. There were horses. And more people.

Immediately, I wrapped myself in harmonic shadows, moved forward, and was about to sneak around the figures when I saw Dakis turn to me and wag his tail… and I saw Zoria’s bluish hair. It glowed in the darkness. It was incredible. I straightened up, amazed.

“How does it work?” I said.

I startled them all except the quadruped and Shokinori. I undid the harmonies and approached, jumping from root to root. I landed in front of the Blue One.

“Ayo. Is that a spell? The thing with your hair. It looks like a blue lantern.”

An amused glint shone in Zoria’s magical eyes.

“It’s due to the mutations, I’m afraid,” she replied.

“She’d rather stay like that than swallow another of my drinks,” Dessari Wayam said with chattering teeth. He rubbed his gloved hands together as he muttered, “Devils, wandering around here is worse than drinking an ice potion.”

I smiled. What the hell was the alchemist doing here?

“Good evening, my boy!” called out Yabir’s voice almost at the head of the line. “Since you are here, I gather that Dakis is right and that we are close to the famous cave.”

I walked up the line nodding cheerfully.

“It’s a stone’s throw away! I will guide you,” I offered. “My master is waiting for you. Where did you get the horses from?”

The mere sight of these sturdy, long-haired horses awakened memories of long ago.

“We rented them from an old friend of mine who raises ponies in the valley.”

The deep voice came from behind one of the horses. Startled, and knowing that the voice could only be from one person, and that it made sense for him to be there if the alchemist, Sarpas, the twins, and Dalto were there… I stepped around the horse, looked up at the hooded figure, saw the beard, and let out a:

“Oh.”

To which my brother replied:

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to arrest you: Yabir hired us as bodyguards.”

He spoke in such a detached tone that my instinct was to keep away. So I gasped an “ah well…”, and turning back, hurried to lead the group with Dakis. I trotted the last few yards and went inside to pick up my top hat, exclaiming:

“They’re here!”

And as the nakrus rose slowly from the trunk, and Little Wolf, curious, looked away from the story-book, I came out again, took off my top hat as Rogan did, stylishly, and, throwing a harmonic light so that one could see better, I said:

“Sajits! Welcome to Narsh-Ikbal’s, the best astronomer! the best necromancer! the—!”

“Mor-eldal,” the nakrus protested as he stepped out. “A little modesty, son.”

“And my master,” I concluded with a broad smile.

The appearance of the nakrus, highlighted by my harmonic light, had left the newcomers I don’t know if fascinated, entranced or appalled. A bit of all three, perhaps. I undid the spell, and in the dim light of the lanterns, the nakrus’s bright green eyes shone, probing at those present. Yabir was already opening his mouth when my master said:

“Welcome, foreigners. I must say, I wasn’t expecting such a big company.”

He glanced eloquently at the mist hellhound. The latter wagged his tail.

“We’re going to be a bit cramped in the cave, but… come in, if you can,” he offered in a slightly mocking tone.

And without further ado my master turned back and disappeared into the cave. I heard Kakzail clear his throat, and Dalto say in a low voice:

“I’ll go put up the tents.”

“I’ll take care of the horses,” my brother replied quietly.

Yabir then inhaled sharply and took a step forward, saying aloud:

“It is an honour, Narsh-Ikbal! An… er… honor.”

He was undoubtedly moved to speak with the nakrus, but he was also apprehensive. Amused, I tugged him by the sleeve to encourage him to come in, and he entered accompanied by Shokinori and the hellhound. I hesitated on the threshold and looked at the “bodyguards”. My brother, Dalto, and Sarpas were already leaving to set up the tents and tend to the camp; the Blue One, on the other hand, exchanged glances with her sister and the alchemist, and after a few moments of indecision, she entered. The gnome followed her, a glint of excitement in his eyes. As she passed by me, the Blonde One smiled at me and said:

“I bet by day the view must be beautiful from here.” She tilted her head to one side with a pensive pout. “Marevor Helith has a reputation for being a great eccentric… but your master seems to be more normal.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Elassar is ragingly normal,” I assured.

Amused, the magician walked into the cave. I then thought of the story of the blue gem and the slaughtered kings, and I hastened to follow the Blonde One inside to at least make sure that the hobbits had only come to see my master and not to take Little Wolf away.

The interior was crowded, and I had to shave the walls to get to the little one, the bench, and the blankets. Once there, I huddled close to Little Wolf and listened to what was being said.

They spoke in Caeldric, natural. Sitting on the log which I had brought in the afternoon, Yabir was full of formulas of politeness, adding that oh! though not a great admirer of necromancy, he was an ardent worshiper of knowledge, and that, without doubt, my master must be the greatest expert in Prospaterra on bones. My master did not deny it. Every compliment the hobbit paid him drew a look of sharp mockery from his eyes, but I do not know if anyone but me could see it.

At one point, the twins spoke briefly of their childhood in the far west—that’s when I learned that they had known Marevor Helith personally and had actually been spoiled, nail-pinchers’ daughters. Shokinori only opened his mouth to correct his young companion on one or two details when the latter told of the long quest for the Purple Orb. As for the alchemist, he told how he had once been tempted to make a mortic potion that could mimic the effects of bone morjas.

“I say ‘almost’, but, in fact, I did,” the gnome confessed. “And my experiment went wrong. I’m not touching those arts again in my life!”

I learned almost nothing new besides that; however, if I had trouble concentrating on the conversation, it was not for lack of interest but because I kept repeating to myself: my brother is out there and he knows that not only am I a necromancer, but that I was raised by a nakrus. He who had been a fly, who had been on the side of the authorities, what could he think of that? He knew that I had stolen, that I belonged to a gang of thieves, maybe he even knew that I had participated in the theft of the Solance from the Palace, and he knew that I was the one who had caused Warok’s death. So… what did it matter now that he knew about my master? He already despised me. I could feel it. He despised me and worse: he wanted nothing more to do with me.

I was so confused that, after a while, feeling Dakis’ curious gaze upon me, I lay down with my back to them all and closed my eyes. My thoughts swirled so fast that I could not think of anything concrete. And still, some thoughts kept coming to me: my brother hates me, my family doesn’t like me, I’m a monster, only my master thinks I’m not… And then I would lecture myself and say: isturbag, a hundred thousand times isturbag, you’re thinking like a fool… But I was so anxious that Kakzail may have finally stopped trying… well, trying to prove to me that I could still be part of his family. It must be said that, in the face of his efforts, the only thing I had done was to send him chasing the clouds and to throw a mortic shock at him. How many times had my master asked me to think before acting! And I was thinking. I was thinking a lot. The problem was that I always seemed to be blundering.

Well, not always, I qualified. I had taken Little Wolf to be healed. And I had done a lot of good things, right? I had stolen, all right, and I knew that my master didn’t like that very much. What does it matter? I said to myself with a sudden sharpness. My master is leaving! He is leaving, and I shall never see him again. My eyes filled with tears, and with my mortic hand, I clutched Azlaria’s pendant tightly…

So, yeah… My mind was thus confused while my master was quietly talking with his guests barely a meter away from me. Fortunately, I had been very busy all day, looking for the log to make a bench, playing with the sled and Little Wolf… and tiredness finally calmed my ramblings and led me into a restless sleep.

I am not sure what my dream was about, but it was not pleasant, and I awoke drenched in sweat. Wide-eyed, I stirred under the blanket, still half awake, and saw a skeletal hand resting on my arm.

“It was only a nightmare,” my master said in a serene voice.

I sat up, catching my breath. I had pushed Little Wolf unintentionally, but he had not woken up. The interior was still lit by the light of the lantern, but already there was no one there but my Master, Little Wolf, and me. I frowned.

“Where are the others?”

“In the tents, sleeping,” my master replied. “And so should you: you have hardly slept two hours. The hobbits have just left. That Yabir is more curious than a squirrel. He’s been trying to get stories out of me from the past… In those cases, my memory lapses are very convenient,” he joked. “Feh. As if the memories of a poor nakrus like me are worth writing in a book. I’d rather be alive and well in my bones, than written down and converted to dust.”

He smiled, I smiled back and asked:

“So, just like that, Yabir wanted to put you in his chronicle, too?”

“In his chronicle? He wanted to do a whole chronicle just for me!” the nakrus snorted. “I’m afraid he was slightly disappointed. But, believe me, that little being would have climbed the highest mountain in the world to see me. Curiosity and tenacity work wonders. And this young Baïra does not lack any. On the other hand, the other one, Shokinori, I think he’s bored to bones of traveling the world.”

He laughed and sat down on the trunk. I blinked and, fighting sleep, said:

“Elassar. Have you seen my brother?”

“Mno,” he admitted. “He didn’t show his nose in the cave. My appearance probably made some impression on him. But I will speak with him tomorrow, whether he likes it or not,” he assured. There was a silence, and then he added, “Go to sleep, little one. And don’t have nightmares. Do you want me to sing to you?”

I smiled in surprise at the suggestion, and if one of my companions had been there, I would surely have said that I was not a little one, and that I did not need lullabies to sleep, but here I was alone with my master and Little Wolf. I nodded eagerly and lay down again, and in the silence of the night, my master, with his soft, serene voice, sang.

Three stars awake in the night;
One reddens, the other turns snow-white,
the Gem is turning blue.
Cradled by the three nymphs of air,
a necromancer looks up to the sky,
his face young and pure too.
He seeks out a path of roses
and, wandering on them, broods:
I can’t seem to pick them up.
All I trampled on were thorns,
rather than love me, the roses hurt me more.
Should I give up?
How blind a candid soul can be,
even when a magic torch
lights it dazzingly.
Should I open my own door?
As a thief, he’s opened many a door.
But will he be able to open his own door?

I looked at my master, my eyebrows furrowed as he fell silent. Noticing my scowl, his magical eyes smiled mockingly.

“Oh, come on. Would you prefer a lullaby of the old-fashioned, simple, pretty, uncomplicated kind?”

I huffed, swallowed, and muttered:

“Like, yeah, I would prefer it. I didn’t like that one at all.”

“Well,” the nakrus agreed. “You’re right. Too deep. Forget about it. Really. It was a stupid song. Okay, here’s a song as it should be, simple, pretty, and innocent,” he promised.

And this time he sang a normal lullaby. The uneasiness of his first song was dispelled, and I let myself be carried away by his melodious voice, and at last, I fell asleep in a serene and peaceful sleep.

* * *

The impending departure of my master had me in a state of agitation. Knowing that, in just three days, Marevor Helith would complete the opening of a magical portal in front of the mirror in the middle of the cave, Yabir peppered my master with questions, walked with him to the star rock, and the two of them spent hours talking, often accompanied by Dakis and Shokinori.

On the first day, my master tried to talk to my brother. I say “tried” because Kakzail hardly opened his mouth and, after a few minutes, he made up an excuse to get away from the nakrus. I had watched them from a distance, and at first, I thought they were angry, but when I reached my master he comforted me by saying: “The gladiator does not fear steel, but he fears death”. So what was happening was that Kakzail was afraid of my master. This, more than amusing me, resolved me to approach my brother and tell him not to worry, that my master was kindness itself… He merely cleared his throat and uttered an “I don’t doubt it” and entered the tent. Damn. I went back to my business: I gathered dead wood, carved a wooden wolf for Little Wolf, and in the afternoon, I showed the good Northerner how well I could climb trees. Sarpas seemed to be the only one of the bodyguards who didn’t hate the snow. And he even said it reminded him of his first nine years of life up north. At nightfall, as I was perched on a low branch, I asked him with great interest why he did not go home, since he had ceased to be a slave. The tattooed giant answered me in his terrible accent:

“My family sold me. They wanted to be able to feed my siblings. I understand that. I forgive that. But, they, too, will forgive me if I don’t come back. My home is where my heart is.”

He gave me a big smile, and I just shook my head in shock. I was surprised, not so much to hear that his family had sold him—in Estergat, that practice was not so rare—as to think that, all in all, his situation was somewhat similar to mine, except that instead of selling me, my parents had lost me. Interrupting my thoughts, Sarpas added:

“The sun is running away. It will be better to come back.”

I nodded, dropped the branch, and landed in the snow.

“How did you get away from Tassia?” I asked as we took the path back between the shrubs and trunks.

“Oh. Disguised,” the Northerner smiled. “As acrobats. As sailors. And as Rock Monks. We arrived in Raiwania and, afterwards, in Arkolda. A great adventure,” he assured. And he gave a deep, quiet laugh, remembering the escape.

This story of disguises aroused my curiosity so much that I asked him more questions, and he answered me as best he could, with hesitant sentences, telling how they had deceived the vigilance of the guards in Aramies, the capital of Tassia, and how they had improvised along the way, dodging patrols and finally crossing the For River to enter Raiwania. We were already reaching the camp when he said:

“It wasn’t such a bad life. We had good meals. And running away meant death. But when we met Zoria and Zalen, things changed. We wanted freedom for them and for ourselves. And we took it.”

He smiled at me and, finally arriving in front of the tent, he raised a hand and said:

“Good night, ushkra.”

Bending down to enter, he disappeared into the tent, and I stood there for a few seconds, lost in thought, before I walked away and up the slope towards the cave. On the way, however, whispers drew my attention. I saw two figures in the growing darkness. I thought I recognized my brother and the Blue One, and in my curiosity I approached them quietly, came to a nearby trunk, and listened. They were talking with obvious gravity.

“I’m talking seriously, Zo,” my brother said. He held both of the Blue One’s hands. “I don’t trust that nakrus, that’s true. But, if you believe that this monolith thing is not a joke, I’ll trust him. I really will. If you want to go home, I’ll go with you… unless you don’t want me to go with you.”

I blinked, puzzled. Go with the Blue One… where? She shook her head and replied in a slightly louder voice:

“It was only an idea, Kakz. So many years have passed… I am no longer the silly little girl who studied in Dathrun. Zalen is more sentimental and Narsh-Ikbal’s proposal has affected her. It has affected both of us. To think that I could be in Eshingra day after tomorrow… it is so unbelievable. But… give me time to think about it, Kakz. I need time.”

My brother sighed loudly.

“You only have one day. I mean, whatever you decide, you know…” He snorted, and as if bursting out of the blue, groaned, “Why don’t you tell me once and for all if you care about me at all?”

The question seemed to leave the Blue One both puzzled and nervous. She stammered:

“What? Of course I care about you, Kakz! You already know that.”

“And how do you expect me to know?” Kakzail grumbled. “I sing to you like a muse, and you never tell me anything. I love you, Zo, you know that because I’ve told you… I’ve told you many times. And you seem to say it with your eyes, but you’ve never said it out loud, so I’m starting to doubt, you know? Don’t blame me, but I’m starting to think that maybe you’re amused that an uneducated warrior like me is trying to win your heart.”

The Blue One let out a small laugh, and I saw Kakzail petrify.

“My heart,” she whispered. “That you’ve already conquered, Kakz. Long ago. You know me. When it comes to talking, I don’t do as well as my sister.” She hesitated. “If you’ll let me…prove it to you in some other way, perhaps…”

She fell silent. I saw them embrace and smiled broadly from my hiding place before frowning and thinking about what they had said. My master had suggested the twins go home… What did that mean? To them, going home meant… going back to their western lands, to Eshingra, and that… I widened my eyes. Oh, dear. So, just like that, the nakrus had offered to take them across the monoliths with him. And my brother was willing to follow Zoria if she decided to leave!

Dumbfounded, I hurried away and returned to the cave. My master had gone out to look at the stars, and I found Little Wolf perched on the chest, with puppet Master in his hands. I ruffled his hair and said to him:

“Are you hungry? Well, let’s make dinner!”

I lit the fire in the entrance, and warmed the lentils, and all the while—and even before I went to sleep—I kept thinking that Kakzail might decide to go to where the mouse and the cat greet each other. My master said that this journey through the monoliths would save him many moons of travel, that he would cover many, many miles in a few hours… To think my brother might go with him!

Despite a restless night, I awoke at dawn as usual and saw my master standing before the mirror, perhaps communicating with Marevor Helith through brejic arts. When he saw me sit up, he turned his head towards me and said in a jovial tone:

“Good morning! Guess what, boy! Change of plans. Marevor says the monolith will be ready in three hours at most. Go warn the others and tell them no one is to enter the cave until I give them permission. Take Little Wolf with you, will you?”

Not quite knowing how to take the news, I hurriedly dressed Little Wolf, grabbed him, and hurried out of there. I arrived at the two tents. Dalto and Shokinori were sitting outside by the fire. They looked at me curiously. I explained to them in one go:

“The monolith will be ready in a few hours! That’s what my master said. And also that no one’s allowed to enter the cave until he says we can.”

After a startled silence, Dalto rose and without a word walked into one of the tents. Dakis came out of the other tent, stretched, opened his big jaws in a yawn, and glanced darkly at the snow. Shokinori smiled and commented in Caeldric:

“Hopefully, we’ll be on our way before noon and back to more hospitable lands.”

The hobbit reached out a hand to scratch the ears of the hellhound, and I, not knowing quite what to do, sat down on the log by the fire and waited. I wanted to move, to go and see what my master was doing in the cave, to ask him if everything was going well, but in practice, I did nothing but wait and wait, until I saw the gladiators and twins coming out of the tents with their bags packed. I stood up with a dull fear and watched them go about their business. They were already dismantling the tent. Yabir and the alchemist soon appeared with their bouncing bags. The gladiators were talking happily among themselves in Tassian, so I could not understand them. Finally, when they had all packed their things, I dared to approach and ask timidly:

“Are you all leaving?”

Kakzail glanced at me and nodded.

“We’re leaving,” he confirmed.

They continued to go about, and feeling that I was in the way, I returned with Little Wolf to the fire. The fear was growing more and more intense. They were all leaving, I thought. They were all going to leave through the monolith and I was going to be left alone with Little Wolf. Only one thing was off: they were putting the bags back on the ponies, and the ponies were too big to fit through the narrow cave entrance. If the monolith was going to appear in the cave, how were they going to get the ponies inside?

I was still trying to solve the mystery when suddenly the hobbits and the twins looked up and turned at the same time towards the cave entrance. Following the direction, I saw my master come out and raise a hand… Finally. I stood up and joined him before anyone else. I looked into his eyes, questioning. Too upset by everything that was going on, the words were stuck in my throat.

“Ready and safe,” my master declared jovially. “Some of Marevor’s friends helped me carry the chest. The mirror, however, will have to stay here. Don’t go near it on any account, eh? Otherwise you might break the monolith.”

I tilted my head aside to look into the cave and let the air out of my lungs. There, near the mirror, stood a strange arch full of glittering energy. In the middle was darkness. Darkness as black as night. Well. So that was a teleportation portal… It was chilling just to look at it.

“You all haven’t changed your mind?” my master then asked as the others approached the cave. He smiled, “I see that none of you have. Then there will be four of us to cross the monolith.”

I gasped. Four? I looked at all the faces. Yabir had that wistful look on his face of one who is giving up on a great adventure, and from the weary, mocking glance Shokinori gave his companion, I deduced that they were not among those four. The Blue One’s face was solemn, and my brother at that moment patted the Northerner on the back. He said something in Tassian, and the latter replied with a smile. I did not understand anything, and I repeated to myself more and more nervously: but exactly who the blasthell was leaving?

I finally discovered it when I noticed the bags carried by the Alchemist, the Blonde One, and Sarpas. The others had left theirs by the horses. This reminded me that I had left Little Wolf by the already extinguished fire, and losing interest in the big event for a moment, I glanced around to make sure he was all right. He was fine: the little one was moving as best he could in the snow, towards us. He sprawled out. Rolling my eyes, I hurried to rescue him, and when I returned, I saw the twins embrace one last time before the big Northerner gently took the Blonde One by the waist and they went into the cave.

I didn’t understand, to tell the truth, but I didn’t try to understand either. I only knew that, for some reason, the Blonde One had decided to go home while the Blue One had decided to stay. As for the alchemist, well, maybe he was hoping to flee the Black Hawk for good and seek better fortune in a new land.

Crouching near the entrance with Little Wolf, I saw them cross the black monolith as if in a dream. First the alchemist, then Sarpas and Zalen together. And then it was time to leave for my master. Just thinking about it made my heart grow fonder, and it really hurt inside. I wanted to ask Elassar to come with me, but I knew that was impossible. He had to attend a meeting of the undead, and I had to return to the world of the living.

My master surveyed those present, his magical gaze lingering for a long moment on the Blue One, no doubt communicating brejically, and then he nodded slowly and focused all his attention on me. He held out a skeletal hand.

“Come here, son. Don’t cry.”

Only then did I realize that tears were rolling down my cheeks. I got to my feet and took my master’s hand. With the other, he lifted my chin. His green eyes seemed larger than ever.

“Courage and bravery, Mor-eldal,” he said to me. “Remember that I am watching over you. I wanted to say: thank you. When I met you, down there in that storm of snow, I didn’t think you would change me so much. But you did. You managed to wake me up again and pull me out of those mountains. That’s no small thing, believe me. Only a little necromancer like you would be capable of such a feat,” he joked. He placed a pretty ferilompard bone in my hand, and his eyes darkened, moved. “I chased you out of the cave when you were just a kid, and now… you’re starting to look a little less like one,” he smiled.

I breathed in sharply and found nothing to say. Swift was right when he said that farewells were ridiculous. Because there was no time to say everything, and one was stuck wishing one had a century to think of an answer. So when I saw Little Wolf crawling into the cave on all fours, I took advantage of the distraction, hurriedly entrenched myself in my gwakyest gwaky attitude, and grabbed the little one by the collar of his coat, calling out:

“You can’t go there, demorjed! Otherwise you will go away the Spirits know where, and then the dragons will devour you.” And, as if nothing had happened, without almost looking at him, I added a, “Ayo, Elassar. Good luck at the meeting.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my master smile, raise a hand in greeting to the others, and enter the cave. My eyes bulged, clinging to Little Wolf like a rope hanging over a precipice, I saw my master stop before the monolith and stand up majestically. Then he took a step, and the darkness engulfed him.

And that was it. Elassar was gone. The fact occupied my mind for a long moment, and Kakzail had to come and pull me away from the entrance of the cave to bring me out of my torpor. His face expressed a strange happiness.

“Come on, Ashig. We’ve got to climb down as far as we can before night falls on us.”

I followed him without protest. Long after we started walking, I could still see my master walking through the black portal. In my fist, I clenched the ferilompard bone.

13 Staying mute is one hell of a feat

Compared to the road from Amdebid to Onkada, the road from Onkada to Estergat was, in the words of a coachman, “a marvel”. And it was true: the stagecoach moved forward almost without a bump.

To tell the truth, I hardly noticed the difference, because after days of exhausting travel in the midst of the snowstorms, I had slept for most of the journey from Amdebid to Onkada without noticing the jolts, and it was only from Arjaldia onwards that I began to feel that keen impatience to at last return to Estergat. I was bored by the lack of activity, and it was hard to sit still on the coach bench, and if I didn’t run straight south, it was because I knew that it would take me longer to walk. Well, and also because I had promised Kakzail that I would not do anything foolish until Estergat and that I would follow Dalto like a faithful puppy.

I glanced cautiously at the red-haired caitian sitting opposite me. Since I had heard him say that he intended to take up his fly work at Estergat, I hardly dared to speak to him. I called him “sir”, again with a certain distance, and although I knew that deep down he was not a bad man, I wondered if he would be able to arrest me if he saw me, for example, picking the pockets of a hammered nail-pincher. Just the thought of him grabbing me by the neck and saying, “To jail, ragged rascal!” made it hard for me to feel comfortable around him.

If my brother had been with us, Dalto would have chatted with him, smiled, joked, and I would have felt more at ease right away. But my brother was not there. He had left us at Amdebid to take a coach north to Gistea. There, he said, lived several cousins, uncles, and aunts to whom he had to deliver certain letters and packages from our mother and Uncle Markyr. He had gone with the Blue One. He had offered me to go with them, but, although I felt a little embarrassed afterwards, I had given him an emphatic “no” followed by a sharp “I want to come back to Estergat”. Kakzail had not insisted. So now I was in the coach with the hobbits, Dalto, Little Wolf and… Dakis. The hellhound took up two and a half seats, and I was next to his head. Every time he fell asleep he would start drooling on my pants.

I glanced out the window at the fields of Arkolda. The sky was already darkening, but the coach was not slowing down. We had passed through Onkada, Arjaldia, Revierza, Otkatbat… I knew the names because the coachmen were shouting: “Otkatbat, we arrive in Otkatbat!”. And we had to get off, enter an inn, have dinner, and sleep until the next day. After four days of travel, we were now about to arrive in Lysentam. I had heard a great deal about this city in the Cats: it was called the Ancient City, because it was full of old monuments. Diver had legged it there in the autumn: a day’s journey on foot—two at the most—separated it from the Rock. That meant that, by stagecoach, we would finally be back at the Rock the next day before noon. And then Dalto would take me to the barber’s and leave me there with him.

That was the agreement. I had promised Kakzail that I would go to my parents and make an effort to communicate with them. I’m not sure how I came by such a thing. Maybe because deep down I really had something to say to my family: I wanted to help them. I wanted to show the barber that I was not a selfish gwak, that I was an honest gwak, and that I could be useful. That is why, despite my misgivings, I was going to listen to Kakzail.

“Ajistrok,” Yabir muttered, raising his voice.

Under my curious gaze, the young Baïra shook his head and continued to mutter words in Owram as he sat with a small improvised table, scribbling the draft of his chronicle and rereading his notes, looking completely absorbed. He’d been like that since the morning. As for Shokinori, sometimes he was contemplating the fields, looking dreamy, sometimes he was reading a book, also written in Owram. Everything was in Owram. And so I had nothing to read, nothing to do except play with Little Wolf, scratch Dakis’ ears, and look out the window at the barns, the canal, the trees, and the travellers walking along the path.

Gradually the barns gave way to houses with gardens, buildings, streets, and the hubbub of the city… We finally arrived in front of the transport company office and one of the coachmen shouted:

“Lysentam! We arrive in Lysentam!”

As soon as the door opened, I was the first one to step on the ground with Little Wolf in my arms. I was anxious to move, to walk, to do something other than sit still. That is why, when I saw that my companions were already walking away towards an inn, I shouted to Dalto:

“Sir! I’ll be right back, it runs?”

And I went away with Little Wolf on the square. Immediately, the redheaded man protested:

“Hey! Where are you going?”

I sighed. Why did adults always have to ask that question in a tone of voice that seemed to say, “You’re not going anywhere without my permission”? I turned around and explained:

“Going for a walk. To get some fresh air. I’m not going anywhere,” I promised.

“No way,” the caitian replied. “Lysentam is big. You could get lost in a few minutes. As I understand it, Yabir wants to take a walk. We’ll book the room and then you go with them, okay?”

I agreed, though I could not understand why he was so determined not to leave me alone. I was following the hobbits and the gladiator when suddenly a figure leaning against the wall of a building stepped aside and approached, saying:

“Excuse me. Are you Yabir, son of Nodrea and Galfandir?”

He wore a scarf that obscured his face and a large cloak that could conceal anything… Dalto brought his hand to the pommel of his sword. Yabir confirmed:

“Indeed, it is me. And you are…?”

The stranger did not bother to introduce himself; he took a letter from his pocket and held it out.

“It’s for you.”

He put the paper in his hand and left without saying anything more. Dalto snorted.

“Should I tail him?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Yabir assured, unfolding the letter. “It’s from our good friend Korther.”

He moved towards the light of a street lamp to read better, and I followed him, curious to know. What message could Korther have sent to Yabir? The Baïra’s eyes glowed.

“A thousand gargoyles,” he muttered in Caeldric. “You’re not going to believe this, Shok.”

“What?” Shokinori replied, impatiently. “What does he say?”

Yabir cleared his throat, still going over the letter.

“Well… First, he informs us that he believes he has located the gem, the Hilemplert Kings’ gem. It was in a jewelry store. He bought it for twenty siatos without the jeweler knowing anything about its value. He’s inviting us to eat at his house tomorrow to make sure he didn’t get the wrong item.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Shokinori commented with a clearing of his throat. It was clear that he, himself, wouldn’t have bothered to hire the Black Daggers to search for the gem. “Anything else?”

Yabir smiled up to his ears and said:

“Korther has begun to open the tunnels.”

I blinked. The…tunnels? Shokinori wrinkled his forehead.

“You let him have the plans?”

“He copied them,” Yabir explained. “That means… in two weeks at most, we can initiate the journey home, my friend. Soon we will be home! My father will hang me by my ears for taking so long. But, anyway, I’m coming back with the Orb.”

Shokinori sighed.

“Yes, but that’s just because Marevor Helith was kind enough and didn’t want it back. If it had been up to you, we’d have come back without the Orb and without the Opal, and your father would have showered us with glory,” he scoffed. “With so many twists and turns, I wouldn’t be surprised if a dragon popped up now and swallowed the Orb.”

Yabir laughed.

“Always the pessimistic type, my friend! Come on, let’s leave our luggage at the inn. I’m dying to see that Statue Walk! They say Lysentam is the city of knowledge, Shokinori. Let’s go.”

The young hobbit was in a very good mood; as usual, in fact. I cheerfully followed him into the inn, dragging Little Wolf behind and thinking: tomorrow, tomorrow! Tomorrow I would finally be at the Rock, the most precious treasure of the gwaks, because there one never really suffered from cold or hunger. It wasn’t all rosy, of course, but… the Rock was my home. And it was where my future lay.

* * *

The sun was at its zenith as we passed the Gates of Moralion and crossed the bridge of the same name. The hubbub of the capital had awakened me, and now I was fidgeting in my seat, wishing I could open the door of the coach and leap out. Freedom! I wanted to scream, I wanted to run… To spend so many days shut up in that coach had been almost as suffocating to me as the fifty days I had spent in Carnation, and the night walk through Lysentam had hardly calmed me.

We got out of the stagecoach, and Dalto, no doubt realizing that if he did nothing I would get lost in the crowd, put a hand on my shoulder. I flinched, for at that moment I saw him more as a fly than as a friend of my brother.

“Well, my friends,” Yabir said, turning to us, his face beaming. “It has been a pleasure to travel with you. Varied company, indeed.”

“And a generous employer,” Dalto assured, smiling.

Yabir took the compliment with a bow of his head.

“Very nice to meet you. Well, I wouldn’t want to be late for our invitation… Good luck to you both.”

He bowed more deeply this time, and I, scratching Dakis’ ears one last time, said:

“Ayo. Don’t forget the gwak chapter in the chronicle, right?”

“By no means!” the hobbit exclaimed. “I’ll try to send you a copy when I’m done. If all goes well, Yadibia and Estergat will become two sister cities before long.”

He winked at me, and so the hobbits went away. They took a private carriage and disappeared up Imperial Avenue, while Dalto, Little Wolf, and I took the omnibus. We got off at the Esplanade and, seeing that the redhead did not separate from me, I asked:

“Where are we going?”

Dalto gave me a surprised look.

“To the barber’s, of course. I promised Kakzail that I would go and deliver a letter to them. And a son,” he added, mockingly. “No running away now, okay?”

Troubled, I did not answer but still followed him. All around me was the air of familiarity: the shouting newsboys, the greengrocers, the coachmen, the perfume of the ladies walking about in their broad hats. It was Sacredday, and in the taverns, temples, and streets, idle people swarmed. After a while, I cleared my throat.

“Sir.” I bit my lip. “I can’t go to the barber’s right now.”

Dalto let out a loud, exasperated sigh, but he did not stop.

“And why is that?”

“Because…” I shrugged as I walked beside him. “I don’t have a nail to give them.”

Dalto’s frown softened.

“And?” he replied. “You don’t bring the police home: it’s already a good step.”

I looked away uncomfortably and was trying to think of another excuse when a sudden exclamation made me turn my head. Sitting with his cap in front of him and his crippled paw in full view, Swift was looking at me, eyes wide. The red-haired elf was about to stand up when he spotted Dalto and a cautious pout came over his pockmarked face. I smiled broadly and, waving to allay his concerns, approached him as quickly as the short legs of Little Wolf would allow.

“Comrade!” I exclaimed.

“Namesake!” the kap replied, rising to his feet, though not forgetting to feign his infirmity. He looked me up and down with obvious satisfaction. “So, just like that, you’re back already. You found your old man? And did he unscramble your head?”

I shrugged happily.

“A little. Is everyone doing fine?”

“Well, more or less.” We both glanced at Dalto, but he, with great patience, had decided to wait for me at the corner of Sunset Street. He made a gesture to me, as if to say: I trust you won’t leg it, huh? And, to my surprise, he walked away towards the barber’s shop. Swift continued: “Ah, right, in the end they had to withdraw the demolition decree. Didn’t you know about that? You just fell out of the nest, didn’t you? Well, as soon as the flies got to the big kaps, things started to heat up like crazy! Luckily I got us to move to the Bivouac before the bad blood started. Now it’s calmed down. But those who came with their machines to break everything… you can’t imagine the beating they got! I didn’t see it, they told me, but since then… the weather’s been bad, namesake, people are looking at us like we’re plagues and the crops are in free fall,” he lamented, shaking eloquently his cap with the nails.

“Blasthell,” I sympathized. “But, at least the Labyrinth is still standing.”

“Yes…” Swift hesitated and looked at me thoughtfully while adding, “Your cronies missed the ruckus too: some flies got them, I don’t know why exactly. They’ve been at the station a few days, and now they’re at the poorhouse. They haven’t got away yet, as far as I know. But getting out of the poorhouse is a piece of cake. For Diver, it won’t be so easy. He got caught shortly after you left. Guess what. He was on the way to become a lifer, but the smart guy got away and decided to go straight into Frashluc’s gang. I haven’t seen him since, but those guys… you know how they treat gwaks. Well, I guess he’s better off there than at Carnation. Anyway. One piece of good news is that Braggart’s been incarnationed for eight years. The flies had their eye on him, and it was his own people who sold him out, that isturbag. The devil gets what he deserves. Hey, your jaw’s unscrewed, gwak,” Swift scoffed.

Under the flood of news, I contemplated my namesake, mouth agape and stunned. My cronies, in the poorhouse; Diver trapped in Frashluc’s gang; and the Braggart slowed for eight years.

“Good mother,” I articulated.

Swift guffawed, and leaning on his crutch, he asked:

“Who was that guy you were with?”

I breathed in, and then, pulling myself together, I explained:

“A mate of my older brother. I’m supposed to go to the barber shop, but if I go… maybe they’ll send me to that youth center.”

I had already told him about my parents’ decision before I left, and Swift looked at me in amazement.

“And you’re gonna go?”

I shrugged, nervous.

“Dunno. I don’t want to. But I promised Kakzail I’d go see the barber. By the way, namesake. The money I gave you, you still have some left, right?”

Swift brushed off his sympathetic expression and huffed.

“No way, it’s gone.”

I shivered.

“All of it? In one moon?”

“I tell you it’s gone,” Swift confirmed. And, as if to change the subject, he made a gesture towards Little Wolf. “And this one? Are you taking him to the barber too?” he mocked.

I looked down at the blond boy and for a moment thought of leaving him to Swift, but I changed my mind.

“Where are you at the Bivouac?” I asked.

I knew that the Bivouac was the highest area of the Cats, wedged between the old ruined wall that separated it from Atuerzo and the Timid River. It was full of rocks and mud and debris of all kinds, and because of the cave-ins there were hardly any houses there, but there were hovels and bands of gwaks.

“Towards the middle,” Swift replied. “Ask after the Wise Ones. That’s the new name of our band. And yours, namesake,” he reminded me.

“Natural,” I agreed. “Can you tell the Priest to stop by the barber shop as soon as he can? Tell him I still have the hat.”

Swift glanced at my top hat in amusement and nodded.

“I’ll tell him,” he promised.

I smiled.

“Well. I’m going, then.”

“Onward!” Swift encouraged.

And as he limped down the street like a professional cripple, I headed to the barber shop and said to Little Wolf:

“Everything will go well, you’ll see. Careful, don’t fall, you demorjed! You used to walk so well in the snow! What’s the matter? You want me to carry you again? No way, we’re almost there. Wipe your nose. Good. See the signs on the windows? It says, ‘Barber Malaxalra’. Come on, let’s go in.”

The closer I got to the shop, the slower I got. Finally, I stopped at the door and peered cautiously through the glass… The door opened. Dalto stopped in the doorway when he saw me. He looked almost surprised. Then he smiled.

“Well, well, here he is,” he said, more to the barber than to me. He came out and patted me on the back. “Try not to blunder this time, kid.”

He walked away towards the Avenue, and I stood in front of the door. The barber was inside, standing and cleaning his razors with quick movements. I stood still for what seemed to be an interminable time. Then the barber said to me:

“Come in and shut the door.”

His voice was neither stern nor altogether friendly. I pulled Little Wolf and entered like a cautious cat, looking around at the empty chairs, the bowls, the little mirrors… At no time did I stop watching the barber. I closed the door, and after a moment’s silence, I said:

“Kakzail said I should come here. So, here I am.”

After turning pompous speeches over and over in my head, I let out the first thing that came to my mind. The barber continued to clean his razor blades. Outside, a bunch of kids went by screaming at the top of their lungs. I scratched my head, more and more puzzled. I was thinking that perhaps the barber had finally become as dumb as Little Wolf when he suddenly left the razors and asked:

“What about this little boy?”

His dark eyes were now staring at both of us. I gave him an insecure smile.

“It’s Little Wolf. He doesn’t say anything because… he’s mute.”

The barber nodded thoughtfully and then said:

“You keep scratching yourself, you’re gonna end up bald, kid. Sit down on that chair.” I looked at him, startled. “Sit down,” he insisted.

I obeyed. He took the travelling bag from me, took off the top hat, and put a large towel around my neck. Increasingly stunned and apprehensive, I did not move from my seat.

“Are you gonna barb me, sir?” I asked.

“I’m going to delouse you,” the barber replied.

And, under the curious gaze of Little Wolf, he undertook to cut my hair with swift movements. Then he smeared vinegar on my head, and in the meantime, I tried not to lose sight of the barber’s eyes, and he said to me: stay still. Finally, to my great joy, he did the same with Little Wolf, and I watched him work on the little blonde head in silence. His hands had an undeniable skill. They seemed as nimble as those of thieves and card players.

When he finished, he consulted the time on the new clock in the dining room, returned, turned the small sign on the door to inform the patrons that the place was open, and said:

“Yalma and your siblings went to Uncle Markyr’s for dinner and they won’t be back until tonight, so… it’s just you and me. And I have to take care of my customers.”

I nodded and realized that this more or less meant “I can’t spare you any more time right now”. Moving away from the wall where I was leaning, I said:

“I get it. You want me to leave, round? Thanks for the delousing. Nits itch beastly…”

I fell silent as the barber raised a hand.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he replied. “I just want you to be quiet. You sit on that stool over there and, by all the spirits in the world, you don’t open your mouth. Be mute like this little one. Before you can talk, you’re going to have to learn to… talk properly. Did you hear me?”

I nodded, very surprised.

“So, I’m not leaving?”

The barber rolled his eyes.

“No. You stay here. And you don’t talk. I don’t want my clients to think badly of this house, so you behave.”

I went and sat down on the stool with Little Wolf on my lap, and my appearance seemed to amuse the barber, but he at once assumed a stern face when he said:

“If you open your mouth when there’s a customer, I’ll lock you in the storeroom, and this time I won’t let you open the door like a thief. Do we have a deal?”

I nodded formally.

“Yes, sir.”

I followed the instructions to the letter, and when the first customer arrived, I silently watched the barber as he worked. When the customers were talkative, my father made brief comments, laughed quietly, and said many “really?”. I didn’t open my mouth all afternoon except when the place was empty for a moment and then the barber asked me if I was thirsty, and I said in a hoarse voice: “Yes, sir”. I did not dare to say that I was hungry too. I felt I was on trial, and indeed I was. Therefore, although I was burning with the desire to get up and go and find my companions, to take my cronies out of the poorhouse and, in short, to enjoy life, I remained motionless, mute, and dying of boredom like my nakrus master on his trunk.

And I was so bored that when I saw Rogan’s face against the shop window I let out an exclamation of happiness. I seized the top hat in one hand, Little Wolf in the other, and awkwardly, under the astonished gaze of the barber, who was attending to a customer at the time, I opened the door and almost literally threw myself upon my companion.

“You save me, Priest!” I said. “I’m dead, really really dead. I’ve been nailed to a chair for a week. Look at this, I bring you the hat. Shinier than a nail-pincher’s shoe!”

The Priest laughed, accepting the exchange: I took my cap, and he took his hat.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” he said, looking me up and down. “Aren’t you too hot with so many coats on?”

I was indeed still wearing the two coats. In the mountains they had not been too much, but here… Understanding the implicit suggestion, I took off one of the coats and gave it to the Priest.

“Help yourself,” I said. “What did you do with yours?”

“Some isturbags reaped it from me,” he admitted. He made a vague gesture, as if to say, “Never mind”. Then he looked at me with keen curiosity. “Well, then? What happened?”

After glancing around the shop, I bit my lip and, through the glass of the door, gave the barber an apologetic pout. Without waiting for his reaction, I waved Rogan away and told him everything that was relatable without mentioning anything about necromancers or the undead. Although he was the friend I trusted the most, I had never resolved to say to him: hey, comrade, do you know I’m a necromancer? Because, that I was a gwak, a harmonist, a copper, a midget and hyperactive wizard, any gwak could accept that. But for me to play with dark magic… Sure, it sounded stupid, but I’d learned that these things weren’t told to just anyone. The problem was, Rogan wasn’t just anyone. He knew me well. That’s why I wasn’t surprised when he said:

“So, the ones of the chronicle went all the way to see an old hermit lost in the mountains, huh? Don’t worry,” he hurried to say, seeing me frown. “Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. It’s just that… I always knew that master you were talking about was a weird guy. He taught you how to do magic. Don’t say he didn’t. You healed Manras. And… you cured me. I remember, Sharpy. When I was in the hospital in the summer… I know you healed me.”

He paused for a moment, and as I said nothing, he huffed.

“That’s great, shyur. You should use everything you know to make money. Fix people up. You can do it better than any doctor.”

I gave him a mocking look.

“No way,” I protested. “I know a few things, but hardly any—”

“Right now, there’s an outbreak of the Cold One,” the Priest cut me off cheerfully. “We should go door to door. I’ll be the priest, and you’ll be the doctor. You save the dying patient, and if you don’t save him, I bless him. Look, I even have an altar boy,” he said playfully, patting Little Wolf’s head. “Trust me, Draen. We’d make a fortune!”

I laughed at the thought, but shook my head.

“I can’t.”

Rogan frowned, turned to the barber shop, and looked serious.

“I see. You’re going with your family, right?” He gave me a small, slightly forced smile. “Sounds like a good idea. I never had one… but, if I did, I’d do the same as you.”

I didn’t know where to put myself. I stirred and said:

“I don’t know what to do, Priest. Listen… If you want, I leg it with you right now. Anyway, the barber doesn’t even look at me—”

“Scaluftard,” Rogan cut me off mockingly. “Go and stay there for a few days at least. If the barber kicks you out, come back with us. If he hits you, come back with us. But don’t take the door just because your daddy isn’t looking at you: he’s working, how do you expect him to look at you?” He gave me a light shove. “Come on. Let me take care of Little Wolf. I’ll fly and go tell Manras and Dil that you’re back. That’ll cheer them up.”

I breathed in and nodded. Then I frowned.

“But Swift told me they were at the poorhouse.”

The Priest smiled broadly.

“At the vagrant children’s charity house. There, a seasoned gwak goes in and out as he pleases. If they didn’t come out yet, it’s because I told them not to.” At my puzzled look, he added, darker, lowering his tone, “You see, the Black Hawk is back in the Labyrinth, and he’s looking for his son.”

I looked confused.

“His son? Warok?”

“Manras, isturbag,” Rogan whispered. “Warok’s dead and buried. Anyway, anyway. I heard all about it from Sham, the tavern-keeper of The Drawer, about the Black Hawk. And I thought to myself: as soon as he hears about Swift and his band of sokwatas, he’ll send his henchmen to us right away. So I said to Manras: change your name and make a little isturbiade so that we can put you in the poorhouse. The flies got him, Dil went to see him to the station, he said he wanted to stay with ‘Nat’, and they sent them both to the poorhouse. And my hunch was right: two days later, a boy pretending to be a gwak came to spy on the whole Bivouac and prowl around our shelter. Finally, Swift got pissed and told him to go climb a tree. I bet my hat he was looking for a little dark elf.”

I swallowed the whole story with difficulty. I couldn’t imagine the Black Hawk looking for Manras. He was his son, all right, but he had never treated him as such. And, in fact, he’d seen him so few times that maybe he wouldn’t even recognize him. So even if he went to the hospice to look for him, he wouldn’t be able to find him if Manras kept pretending to be someone else.

I shook my head, absorbed in thought.

“And Swift… Why didn’t Swift tell me any of this?”

Rogan looked embarrassed.

“It’s just… I didn’t tell him.”

I gave him a surprised look.

“But… Swift doesn’t spill,” I protested.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Rogan assured. “It’s just… you know how I am. For me, the gangs… and Swift…” He shrugged. “Bah. I’ll tell him, don’t worry. You go to the barber. By the way, I see you’ve already been deloused and all. You stink of vinegar.”

I smiled and nodded.

“Little Wolf too. It’s more effective than the delousing Ragok does to us. If you could see the barber the way he handles razors and snipes! A real juggler, I swear. Alright. I’ll be off. But you’ll let me know what happens, right? Say ayo to Manras and Dil for me. Hey, can you stop by my cousin’s house? Just… to tell him I’m back and I’m good. Please.”

Rogan rolled his eyes and reached for his hat.

“The Swallow at your service, mister barber.”

We smiled, I said goodbye to Little Wolf, and trotting backwards, I let out:

“Ayo, comrade!”

I entered the barber’s shop just as the customer was about to leave. I almost hit him, but I jumped to my right at the last moment.

“My bad, sir!” I apologized very politely.

The nail-pincher glanced at me with a frown before leaving quickly. As soon as the door closed, the barber let out a long sigh.

“If I applied to the letter what I told you just now, I should lock you in the storeroom, you know?” He paused, and I watched him, anxiously, and he said, “But I don’t suppose you’ll learn to become a better person by being locked up.”

I arched my eyebrows in hope and amazement. Did that mean he wasn’t going to lock me up? The clock struck six in the afternoon. I glanced outside. The sky was cloudy and beginning to darken. Silently the barber closed the shop, drew the curtains, and said to me:

“Grab your bag and follow me.”

He led me into the dining room, where he sat at one end of the table and drummed on it before shaking his head decisively.

“Well. Sit down and let’s talk straight, boy. If you really want to live under this roof, you’re going to have to meet the standards. If you want me to acknowledge you as my son, you’re going to have to make a lot of effort.”

He let his words hang in the air for a moment and then said:

“This is a dignified house, my boy. We are not rich, we are foreigners, but we have dignity and a reputation as honest people. My business depends on it. Therefore, I can’t let one of my sons stray in this way and hang out with the worst kind of people in town. Unless he decides to change his family name permanently. But I hope that won’t be the case. I’ve already lost other children. I do not wish to lose another. So…” He clasped his hands together on the table, and with his eyes locked on mine, he concluded, “What I ask of you… What your mother and I ask of you, Ashig, is that you trust us. You hardly know us, you may not even remember me, but I’m sure that if you make an effort and trust us, even if our decision seems unpleasant to you right away, later on you will be grateful.”

His speech left me with a dull fear in my stomach. What worried me the most was the “our decision”. Little by little, I had the impression that a huge spider was beginning to chain me with its threads. And I said to myself: leg it. Leg it before they lock you up in a hole!

Yet I held back the urge to get up and asked:

“What decision?”

The barber looked at me as if wondering, “Is there any point in all that I am saying to this boy, this gwak corrupted by vice?” He cleared his throat.

“I’ll let you know when the time comes,” he said. “For now, I just ask you to obey me. A son learns to obey his parents. We agree on that, right?” I nodded without taking my eyes off him. “Good. And I suppose that, if you came here, it’s because you’re willing to obey me.”

I nodded vigorously.

“Yes, sir.”

He seemed to be pleased with my answer.

“Good. Then listen. If I hear, under my roof, a single word out of the slums’ jargon: I will punish you. If you disrespect me, your mother, or your elders, I will punish you. If you go away, don’t bother coming back. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded again, not quite sure I understood all these rules. After an appraising silence, the barber finished:

“And now empty your pockets and that bag. I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

I did as he asked without flinching. He even searched me, though with an embarrassed look on his face, as if the scene seemed ridiculous to him though necessary. He did not find my knife, for I had forgotten to take it out of the coat I had given to Rogan. In the bag, however, he found another knife and my remaining provisions, lentils and rice, and… I heard him gasp as he pulled out two white gold coins.

“Are those… crowns?”

I looked at them, as amazed as he was. I didn’t remember putting any crowns in my bag. Was it the hobbits? Dalto? Or did a comrade put them there before I left Estergat? Unless my memory was as bad as my master’s and I put them there myself. In any case, I took the opportunity and said cheerfully:

“It’s for you and for the family.”

The barber looked at me with a look which was more of confusion than of joy. He went to sit down again, looking at the two coins almost anxiously, and he had just opened his mouth when the sound of a key in the lock was heard and a hubbub of voices flooded the shop. There followed a chaotic:

“Hello, Dad!”

The dining room, dark and silent, suddenly became a bright and lively home. Mili, the six-year-old girl, was jumping up and down, pointing to some gift Uncle Markyr had given her, and Nat was trying to take it away from her… The first to notice my presence was Samfen, who gave me an incredulous expression.

“Ashig?”

As soon as my brother said the magic name, all eyes turned to me. The dining room became quiet. Mili asked:

“Mom? Who is it?”

“It’s the gwak brother,” ten-year-old Sarova replied.

He whispered, but all heard him, including me. Samfen clicked his tongue in irritation and muttered something in his ear, to which Sarova replied with an expression which meant: “What’s the matter, isturbag, I’m just calling a cat a cat”. Yalma, the lady, looked at me with alarmed eyes.

“Spirits. What has he done now?” she worried.

Sitting at the table, the barber cleared his throat, and I saw him hide the two crowns in a pocket while calmly answering:

“Nothing, as far as I know. Ashig is going to stay for a few days on probation. That’s all.”

Sarova opened his eyes wide.

“Is he going to sleep with us?”

He did not seem too pleased. The lady intervened in a decided voice:

“He’ll sleep in Skrindwar’s bed, with Samfen. Warm up the food, will you, Sam? Be welcome, Ashig,” she added.

Her tone seemed sincere, and she even smiled a little, but her eyes betrayed a mistrust that was perhaps well deserved. I answered in a courteous tone:

“Ayo, ma’am.”

“You say ‘hello’ or ‘good evening’, not ‘ayo’,” the barber corrected me with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes, looking tired, and inquired: “How is Markyr?”

As Xella busied herself with taking the coats off the little ones, the lady answered, but she did so in the language of the valley, and with such naturalness that I understood that not only was she accustomed to speak in that language more than in Drionsan, but that all understood her but me. The language had strange tones. If Drionsan was a language with simple sounds that tended to be noisy, the language of the valley whispered like a gentle river full of “chkldehledekele”. Something like that. I stopped listening to it when Samfen quickly approached me.

“Why didn’t you show up that day?” he whispered to me.

I followed him to the stove and saw him light the fire and put the pot on. As he lifted the lid, a delicious smell came over me. It made my mouth water.

“I had to leg it,” I explained in a low voice. I stretched my neck toward the pot, curious. “Is that soup? It looks beastly,” I smiled. I wasn’t saying this so much because of the way it looked, but rather because of the smell and, more importantly, because I was hungry as hell. After making sure that the barber, the lady, and the little siblings were busy, I said, “By the way. In the end, did I win the bet?”

Samfen rolled his eyes as he turned the soup with a ladle.

“Well… That day they left me alone,” he assured.

I could tell by his tone of voice that his classmates from the Elms were still harassing him. This irritated me more than I thought it would. I spat:

“What a bunch of isturbags. Hey, brother. Did you even try to mix it up with them?”

“Mix it-what?” Samfen repeated without understanding.

“To tangle with that Marg. To beat him up.” And as I saw that he was about to tell me that these were no ways to fix a problem like that, I sighed and whispered to him in a tone of confidence: “Look, I’ll tell you something. One time, a long time ago, some uppity brats almost as nail-pincher as those of the Elms trapped me like a rabbit. I could have stayed there without doing anything, but then, the next day, when they left the school, they would have put my newspapers on the floor again and, like that, it would have never ended. So, blasthell, I manned up, I threw a punch at the one who looked like the kap, bit him, jumped away, and took off like an arrow. And,” I laughed, “the next day, when they came out of the school, I hit them with stones with some friends. Imagine that. They didn’t dare look at me anymore, those sons of…”

I fell silent as soon as I realized that I had not only raised my voice, but that the barber, the lady, Xella, and the children were staring at me. The former stood up, and as he approached, he lectured me in a stern voice:

“I said no foul language. Make up your mind, kid: you hold your tongue until tomorrow or I’ll lock you in the storeroom. I mean it. If you open your mouth for anything other than food, you go to the storeroom. You’re lucky I don’t pull out the belt.”

His voice was authoritative. I bit my lips eloquently to show him my decision. Samfen barely suppressed his smile, and the barber glared at him.

“You take care of the soup, Samfen. It’s burning. Set an example for your brother and make sure he doesn’t fill your ears with bad words. You don’t want the younger ones to get carried away.”

Samfen nodded gravely. And so my chattering ended. Between the rather silent journey in the coach, the afternoon spent in silence in the shop, and the silent night ahead, I was going to go mad. In spite of everything, I acted like Little Wolf throughout the meal, silent, polite, almost invisible. The hot soup, though clear, was a treat, and as I swallowed it, I watched my siblings curiously. Only six were there. The glassmaker was absent: as I understood it, he was now sleeping in the workshop and barely had time to come to the shop. On my left was Xella, the florist, already dressed as a lady. She smelled of flowers. Sitting in front of me, Mili and Sarova were staring at me openly. The little girl made comical faces at me to make me answer her—which I did, to her great delight, whenever the barber and the lady weren’t looking; on the other hand, Sarova was watching me as he would a rival and an intruder. Who knows what was going through his head? In any case, I did not say a word, and when they all retired to their rooms, I was the only one who did not say “good night”. They put me, as promised, in the glassmaker’s bed, where Samfen now slept also. The mattress was not as comfortable as the one in the inn in Lysentam, and I almost told my brother so, to brag a little about my adventures around the world more than anything else, but I remembered the punishment in time and kept my lips sealed. Sarova was sleeping in the same room, along with little Nat: sure he would have tattled.

In the relative silence of the night, I pricked up my ears and listened to their breaths. There were murmurs of voices in the room of the barber and the lady. How strange, I thought suddenly. How strange it was to sleep under the roof of one’s own family, surrounded by siblings whom I hardly knew, but siblings nonetheless. Blasthell, yes, how strange it was, how strange, I repeated to myself. And all I had to do to stay here was to learn to speak like them, to respect them, and obey the barber!

Slowly, a long time after my brothers had fallen asleep, I slipped out of the covers, went to the window, and sat on the sill against the glass. The rooms were on the first floor, and from there one could see a part of the Avenue which was still busy. The sky was visible, too, but perhaps because of the clouds or the lighting the stars were not visible. I put my mortic hand on Azlaria’s amulet. I examined it. The tracing was so well concealed that, had I not known it was a magara, I could not have guessed. I sighed silently. I had been waiting for two weeks for my master to send me this “little mortic shock” to inform me that his own amulet had been repaired. And nothing, I still hadn’t felt anything.

It will come, I said to myself confidently, stroking the amulet. It will come.

14 Gwaks have principles, blasthell!

The dining room was quiet. Samfen was scribbling on a sheet of paper, looking studious; Sarova was twisting his mouth and glaring at his own sheet as if he were trying to discover some great mystery; Mili was playing with Nat and Lioayza on the floor. From the room came the “clack, clack” of the barber’s snipes, which continued to work. As for the lady, she was sitting in a little armchair near the stove, mending clothes while humming.

As for me, I was sitting at the other end of the table, cutting onions for dinner. I was crying like a convict.

Five days. I had been at the barber’s for five days already, almost as cut off as in the valley. Twice I had suffered the punishment of silence, and just as many times the punishment of the belt, and all because of my “rude” language or because I had failed to keep quiet. Nothing very painful or traumatic, but each punishment filled me with perplexity, because I never knew when the barber would consider this or that word to be acceptable or intolerable. For the first two nights, I kept repeating in my head the forbidden words for which I had received a slap on the head or a warning… The list soon became endless, and logically, I got tired of it.

For the past two days, I had been in charge of cutting the vegetables. The barber had caught me giving Sam advice against his persecutors from Elms School, and when he asked what we were up to, Samfen had assured that I just wanted to help him with his homework. To which the barber had replied: well then, from now on, Ashig will take care of the household chores you normally do, and that way you’ll have more time to study; hopefully you’ll even manage to improve your grades and take advantage of the money we paid for your enrolment.

Samfen had received the answer with a wave of repentance, and for the next two days, he did not lift his head from his books. And that’s how the great architect was now wielding the pen like a scribe.

I finished chopping the damn onion and went to put it in the pot. Yalma looked up from her sewing, looked at me, smiled, and said something in the language of the valley. Sarova and Samfen chuckled. I looked confused.

“I don’ andersdand,” I confessed.

Sarova burst out laughing, and Yalma apologized in Drionsan:

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize what language I was speaking. I was saying that, if you were given a part in a tragedy right now, you’d play it wonderfully.”

Ah. She said that because my eyes were full of tears and my nose was running, I understood. I tried to wipe my face. My mother huffed, amused.

“Hold on. Please don’t fill the pot with snot. Here, blow your nose with this.”

She handed me a handkerchief. It was not as fine as the handkerchiefs I used to get from the nail-pinchers, but it was not like old Fiks’ holey rag either. I accepted it, surprised, and was wiping myself as well as I could, when suddenly I heard a voice in the shop which I recognized. It wasn’t the barber’s, nor was it a customer’s voice. It was that of a child who was innocently asking: Is Sharpy here?

I breathed in deeply, and excitedly threw away the handkerchief and rushed to the shop. As I poked my head through the half-open door, I was filled with joy. Standing at the entrance of the shop were my…

“Cronies!” I exclaimed.

I stepped forward, and they rushed towards me, despite the barber’s thunderous “out!”. Dil smiled broadly; Manras threw out:

“We ran out of the charity house! Adoya came to me and asked my name, and I told him Nat, but he looked at me with such a weird face that…”

“That I told him: he recognized us, let’s leg it,” Dil completed.

“And we did,” the little dark elf concluded. “Come on! Let’s go back to the street. Let’s go look for the Priest…”

He was pulling me by the sleeve, worried at the look on the barber’s face now. And his concern increased when he saw that I was resisting. The barber stepped in, freeing me from the hands of my cronies. Then it was I who tried to go to them, but after pushing Manras and Dil towards the exit with an “out or I’ll call the guard!”, the barber grabbed me.

“Let me go!” I protested. “Cronies, I’m going with you!”

The barber did not let go of me, and I understood that if I did not take urgent measures, my young cronies would go off blindly, and if they did not find the Priest, they would certainly go to Swift’s shelter, and on the way, they would run into Adoya and his seven dogs. And then, who knows what would happen? So I used one of those tricks to get away: I kicked the barber in the shin, pulled away sharply, and rushed to the door, which had closed by itself. I opened it with a bang. At first, I intended to go out, but then something made me change my mind, and I shouted:

“Shyurs! Go to my cousin and explain the problem. Tell him I sent you. Don’t go to Swift. He’s—”

I did not have time to finish the sentence. I was yanked backwards, the door closed, and I was hit with a shower of blows. This punishment, at least, I understood: I had hit my father, I had disrespected him. It was for a good cause, but the barber didn’t know that. He didn’t know the Black Hawk: it would have been useless to explain to him how dangerous he was.

The barber was in a black mood.

“You’ve crossed the line, rascal,” he growled at me.

He only let go of me to go and close the locks of the shop. It was clear that he had made an important decision, a decision which concerned me… He wouldn’t go so far as to kill me, right? I felt in danger, and as I saw the razors, I had a frightening thought. I did not touch them, of course, but the barber caught my eye, and his temper grew terrible.

“Don’t even think about it,” he croaked.

He grabbed me by the neck and shoved me carelessly into the kitchen and from there straight into the storeroom, locking me in. I could only catch a glimpse of my brothers’ and mother’s distraught expressions before I found myself in the dark.

I sat down, and after a moment’s silence, I let out a quiet:

“Blasthell.”

A moment later, on the other side of the door, there was only the sound of cutlery and some murmurs. The family was having dinner. I thought I heard a comment about Samfen’s studies, and there was a slight disturbance when Xella, the florist, arrived, apologizing for the delay and saying that there had been a lot of work in the shop. They didn’t say much more until Samfen asked:

“What are you going to do with Ashig, Dad?”

“Mmph. None of your business, son. Has everyone finished? Then go to your rooms.” A murmur was heard, and the barber replied, “You’ll revise your literature tomorrow, Samfen. Right now, go to your room.”

The tone was inflexible. There was the scrape of chairs, and then a heavy silence. The clock struck nine. There was still a faint light through the crack in the door, so the kitchen must still be occupied. I put my ear to the wood, and in the silence, I heard a sound, as if someone had turned the page of a book. Then Yalma’s soft voice said:

“You worry too much, Arol. Let me tell you what this boy needs. A good dose of discipline and affection. You can’t blame him for not having anyone to teach him those things.”

“No? I suppose not. But that doesn’t make him a better person,” the barber replied. “He’s a delinquent, my dear. And some day we may very well wake up and find that he’s emptied our safe and made a run for it. That in the best case scenario…”

“Shh,” Yalma silenced him. “Maybe he can hear us right now.”

There was a silence. Then the barber said:

“Tomorrow I’ll take him to the center. I’d rather pay extra and have them accept him now.”

I heard a sigh.

“It is a wise decision, I suppose,” Yalma replied.

I heard nothing else. But that was enough for me. It was enough for me to know that in these five days I had tried to behave like the best gwak… for nothing. My parents still wanted to lock me up in the youth centre. I felt betrayed, cheated, belittled. Because I believed that, despite our differences, they had begun to love me a little. I thought that, if the barber corrected me and gave me a beating, it was because he wanted to teach me, not because he wanted to prepare me to be sent to prison. Hell, it wouldn’t make any difference if they sent me directly to Carnation! All you had to do to get in was throw stones at a carriage, and they’d send you there for free. Blasthell.

It was after ten o’clock when the kitchen light went out and I was left in complete darkness. Well. Time to decide: would I stay or would I leave?

I closed my eyes and thought of my nakrus master. What had he said to me again?

‘That’s the most important thing, Mor-eldal. Always be the person you love to be.’

And well, how could I not despise myself after leaving Manras in danger, pursued by Adoya, seven dogs, and an evil father? My brothers were safe. My cronies were not. From that point, the decision was simple. I looked up at the door, invisible in the dark. I fumbled and found the lock.

As a thief, he’s opened many a door.
But will he be able to open his own door?

Having made up my mind, I felt a sudden burst of enthusiasm, cast a harmonic light spell, and rummaged through all the objects. I finally found a tool that could help me. This time, I didn’t bother to preserve the lock, but I was careful to be as quiet as possible. I cast several silencing spells, worked for a while, and… Clack. The bolt of the lock popped off.

Once in the dining room, I rummaged through Samfen’s schoolbag, tore a blank sheet from his notebook, and, without bothering to get out a quill and ink, dipped my finger into the coals of the stove and wrote a: Sorry. Signed with my name: Draen. That way they would understand that they didn’t have to worry about the family’s reputation any more: I was disowning myself.

I went to the only window in the kitchen. It was at the top of the wall, because on the other side it looked out on to a dead end further up the Rock. I pulled myself up, placing a stool on a chair. The opening had bars, but in cleaning the windows the night before, I had noticed that one of them was corroded with rust. Breaking it was child’s play, and before midnight, I was already walking through the streets of Tarmil. And I hadn’t emptied the safe or killed anyone. Because I was not a scoundrel, nor a murderer: I was simply a free gwak and a Black Dagger, and that meant that I could not stay locked up. So: ayo, ayo, and to each his own bread and sorrows.

It was the night of Kindday to Sacredday, it was not especially cold, and the streets were still busy. I headed for the Esplanade. I did not arrive directly at Yal’s, because on the way I met Garmon and some other newsboys I knew, and seeing them playing dice in a corner with the papers under their arms, and dying to do something and loosen my tongue and my cheerful temper, I approached them and said:

“Hey, Garmon, good to see you!”

Natural, they remembered Sharpy, and they welcomed me with joy. I spent a good hour with them, an hour which awakened my spirit after a moon in the mountains and five days of playing the obedient son. But then the group dispersed, between those who had to sell their remaining papers on pain of punishment and those who were going to return them to the press office. I followed the latter to the Esplanade and bid them farewell.

Well, all I had to do was cross the square and enter the house where Yal lived. I had seen it twice before in the two weeks since the Solance was stolen. I knew exactly where it was.

I walked across the huge, silent square, avoiding the streetlights so as not to attract the attention of the officers, and stopped at the door of the house. All the windows were dark. After a moment’s hesitation, I knocked. Normally there was a caretaker. He did not come to open the door. I knocked harder. Nothing. I looked up at Yal’s window and tried to climb the stone wall…

“Hey, you!” a voice behind me called out.

Blasthell. I let myself fall, landed, and saw a fly approaching. I skedaddled. I called myself an isturbag a few seconds later. What could the fly do to me? I had just climbed a wall a little, hadn’t I? The fly blew his whistle and almost immediately another fly appeared in front of me. I braked suddenly in a street next to the Esplanade, turned around, and… seeing myself trapped, I protested:

“I didn’t do anything!”

Hoping that this would break their concentration, I took off running, this time towards the Esplanade. I managed to escape the open arms of the fly. And… wham, I suddenly felt a shock. At first, I thought the fly had used a magara, but then I thought of Azlaria’s amulet and remained perplexed for an instant before I thought: no, it’s a magara. Wasn’t it? My hesitation cost me dearly: the flies caught me.

“Don’t you know that, at this time of day, good children sleep at home?” one of them, the taller one, asked me. “Where do you live?”

I did not loosen my lips. It was one thing to wake Yal up at one o’clock in the morning and another to wake him up, accompanied by the flies. If I had had any money, they would have let me go for sure. But no, I didn’t have a nail.

Something about my attitude and my silence made my captors guess my situation. The taller one said:

“You’ll spend tonight in jail if you don’t answer, kid.”

He didn’t wait for my answer, which wouldn’t come anyway: he pushed me towards the Esplanade and made me cross it all the way to the central police station. I almost told him: I know the way. I would have done the Patron Saint of an impression. But a touch of caution held me back.

So I went into the police station, where they asked me my first name. I told them: Draen. And when they asked me my family name, I said:

“I don’t have one.”

They didn’t insist. They didn’t even search me. They put me in the cell and forgot about me. Casually, I said:

“Ayo.”

And I went and sat down in an empty seat. There were five drunks, an old man of the Valley with a hobo look, and a gwak a little younger than myself. I sat down beside the two latter, pulled my cap down over my eyes, and sat down to sleep. The drunks bawled amongst themselves and stank like demons, but I had slept in worse conditions. After a while the gwak whispered:

“My name is Davik.”

I did not bother to lift the cap, I had already observed the subject briefly: he was a small earth-elf, with particularly large ears and the air of having lived on the street since he had been able to walk on two legs. And yet he did not seem to be familiar with the police station. I replied:

“Draen the Sharpy.”

I heard him breathe in.

“I know ya!” he whispered. “You’re the one who saved the sokwatas, right? From Swift’s gang.”

I lifted my cap for a moment to look at him and gave a simple affirmative “hmm”. Deep down, I was flattered. That gwaks I did not know knew me was both disturbing and pleasing to my self-esteem. With enthusiasm, he asked me:

“What did they nab you for?”

I smiled. Something like “gwak vagabondage” would have sounded too typical. So I replied:

“Because I was running my mouth too much. You know how sensitive flies are. Delicate-eared damsels. What about you?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Davik bite his lip and think before saying:

“Because I bit something.”

“Really? What did you bite?” I asked, mockingly.

“A-A nail-pincher’s watch,” he said.

I smiled, because it was clear that the gwak was lying to make himself look good. I made an appreciative gesture and congratulated him:

“Not bad, gwak. Nail-pinchers don’t need to wear a clock. Anyway, they don’t work and there’s no shortage of beans in their cellar. Because if you stole a chicken from a poor household, well, that’s just plain wrong. But a nail-pincher’s watch? That’s ragingly all right. The main thing in this business is to have principles, blasthell.”

Davik nodded at everything I said. It must be recognized that what I was saying was ragingly interesting and true. And how easily I could find all the forbidden words and how much fun I was having saying them. At last, I was being myself again, Mor-eldal, and not the falsely repentant gwak who, for the opportunity to know his family, had endured hours of bestial boredom.

After a while, I said to him:

“Tell me. Do you know who the Black Hawk is?”

“The… Natural, the Black Hawk, yes, he’s the devil of the sokwata mine,” Davik said. “Everyone knows the story. A friend of mine says that you sokwatas are mutants.”

“We’re cured,” I assured him. “Well. And what else do you know about this devil?”

The elf shrugged.

“Nothing.”

“What about the guy with the seven dogs? Adoya. Do you know him?” I questioned.

A drunkard fell off his bench and laughed loudly, cursing. Davik nodded, frowning.

“I do know that guy. The other day, his dogs threw themselves at me. Look, I still have marks.”

I saw them and also understood more easily his lamentable appearance. His clothes were torn in many places.

“Thunders of thunders,” I snorted. “And what did Adoya do to you?”

The elf shook his head.

“Nothing. When he saw my face, he said ‘stupid dogs, it’s not him’, and just left. I thought I was going to be eaten. A friend of mine says they’ve done it before, that these devils have eaten little kids before. They have huge teeth.”

I remained thoughtful and preoccupied. After a silence, Davik added hesitantly:

“He asked me one thing.”

I turned my head sharply towards him.

“What?”

“If I knew a gwak named Manras.”

I stiffened up.

“And what did you tell him?”

“Well, that I didn’t know him. And he asked me something else,” he confessed.

“What?” I pressed him.

Davik looked at me curiously.

“If I knew a copper kid about ten or eleven years old, whose name was Draen.” I gasped, and he added, “I told him there were a lot of copper gwaks in the Labyrinth but I didn’t know any named Draen. I don’t peach.”

I wondered at that moment if he had covered for me on purpose or simply because he didn’t know until he saw me that I was a human from the Valley. Bah. Davik seemed to be an honest and upright gwak, so I gave him a knowing smile.

“Well done, comrade.”

Still, the idea that Adoya was looking for me was perplexing. What did I have to do with the Black Hawk? Except that I’d undermined his fortune and the Salbronix mine, but Yerris, Sla, Aberyl and, well, a good handful of Black Daggers had contributed to that too.

Unless… I blinked. Unless Adoya revealed to the Black Hawk that it was me who killed Warok. In which case… Blasthell. In which case, I was doomed.

Korther, I thought. He could help me. Despite the bad tricks I had played on him in the past, the Black Dagger kap wouldn’t want to see a sari popped off by an isturbag like the Black Hawk, would he? Except I couldn’t go to his house in broad daylight. And besides, Korther had asked me not to set foot in his white house again. But, if no one saw me enter, what did he care?

I made up my mind. I stood up, walked over to the gate, and stammered to a passing fly:

“Sir. I’m not doing well.”

“Well, learn to do better, kid.” he replied, mockingly.

I counted to twenty. And I repeated my complaint. And again. And again and again. Then suddenly I fell to the ground, spasming and emitting choking sounds. It lasted only a few moments for all to notice. Then I lay still, as if unconscious.

For a moment, I feared that they would leave me there until dawn, and so my little theatre would have been pointless. But no, at last a fly opened the gate, and I was taken out and carried away. They put me on something hard. Perhaps a table, or a wooden stretcher. I waited, and when I heard nothing I opened my eyes. I had been left alone in a room waiting for the doctor. Fantastic.

I glanced at the windows. There were two of them. One was large, with bars. The other was small, but it had no bars. It had no glass either. With a leap, I left the stretcher, took a chair that was there, climbed on it, pulled myself up to the hole, and bingo, I found myself outside, in an alley next to the police station. I smiled, quite proud of my move, and ran up the slope, towards Atuerzo. It was the direction they would least expect me to take, the direction of the rich neighborhoods.

I crossed the Artisanal Street, passed by the Great Temple, and arrived near the Court of Justice. I walked around it. I crossed Imperial Avenue as quietly as I could, and a moment later, I was walking through the rear garden of Korther’s house.

I did not knock at once. I prowled about the veranda, from window to window, and, seeing that all was dark inside, was about to return to the door, trying to convince myself that Korther would not wring my neck, given my untimely visit, when I suddenly heard a rustling of leaves behind me, and… I pressed myself against the wall and surrounded myself with harmonic shadows.

“Too dense,” a dull voice suddenly said.

Tense, I scanned the shrubs and vines. Who the…?

“The harmonies,” the voice explained. “Too dense. And you used them too late. You still have a lot to learn, sari.”

I widened my eyes in disbelief.

“Elassar?”

The figure came from a different place from where the voice had seemed to come. My suspicion was only dispelled when I recognized Yal’s face in the moonlight.

“Good mother,” I blurted out. “What the…? Where’re my cronies?”

The question seemed to disconcert him. No doubt he was expecting an explosive: “Yal, how glad I am to see you!”. However, his presence at Korther’s puzzled me. I made a nervous gesture.

“I sent—I sent my cronies to your house. Didn’t you see them?” I asked.

Yalet huffed, stopping beside me on the veranda.

“Well, I didn’t. I haven’t seen them since they came a moon ago to tell me you’d gone to see your master in the valley. I have to admit, you left us all, uh… pretty surprised,” he coughed. “Rogan stopped by to see me when you got back. I see you didn’t last long at the barber shop.”

I sighed.

“Well…” I didn’t know what to say on the subject, so, after a silence, I explained, “I want to talk to Korther.”

“Mmph.” Yal leaned against the wall beside me, probing the darkness. “He’s not here. He specifically instructed me to stay so as not to leave his daughter alone. This is the first time he’s asked me for a favor like this. Lately, the kap has been very busy.” He paused and added, “Let’s go in.”

He had gone out through a window which was behind the corner of the veranda. We slipped in, and he closed it. He whispered:

“Don’t make any noise. Zenira is sleeping.”

We had landed in the kitchen. In the near darkness, Yal guided me to a seat and sat down in front of me.

“I heard fragments of what happened in the valley,” he murmured. “But only fragments. What really happened?”

I smiled, and putting aside my concern for my cronies for a moment, I told him what had happened in a whisper. I could tell Yal everything. I even told him about my fears and worries. After all, even though he was only eighteen years old, he was my second teacher. And the only one I had left to hand. I even showed him Azlaria’s amulet.

“The worst part,” I finally whispered to him, “is that I don’t know if the shock I felt came from the fly or the pendant.”

Amused, Yal shook his head in the darkness of the kitchen.

“Well, I guess it’s better to think it came from both. So, just like that, the Black Hawk is looking for Manras?”

I nodded, darkening.

“And he’s looking for me, too.”

There was a silence. Then a surprised gasp:

“You? Devils. And why would he?”

I was left speechless. Oh. Right. Yal didn’t know about Warok. I became nervous and said:

“Dunno. But he wants to pop me off. Adoya is asking around about my whereabouts.”

Yal rubbed his forehead, clearly altered.

“Let’s see, Mor-eldal. Why on earth would the Black Hawk want to kill you?”

I sat paralyzed in the chair, not knowing what to say. After a silence, Yal insisted with a touch of real concern in his voice:

“Why, sari?”

I swallowed and was about to tell him the truth when suddenly we heard a cracking sound. The next second, Yal was up and out of the kitchen. He stumbled against a figure who gave a little cry of surprise.

“I’m going to… get some water,” Zenira excused herself.

I arched an eyebrow, and certain that the half elf girl already knew that Yalet had company, I did not bother to hide. With great naturalness, Zenira lit a lantern and went to the tap to get a glass of water—yeah, the houses in Atuerzo were very modern and had sinks with taps. She was in her nightgown, and when her brown eyes met mine for barely a second, she whispered:

“Hello.”

And, to my surprise, instead of answering “ayo”, I answered:

“Hello.”

I saw her raise the glass to her lips. I wondered if she had been listening to our conversation. I had spoken in a low voice, hadn’t I? Yes, most of the time, but perhaps I had raised my voice at times. And if she had heard anything about a nakrus and a necromancer… Korther knew, all right, but that didn’t mean he’d told his daughter. Then, suddenly, a startling possibility crossed my mind. It had nothing to do with necromancy, but with… Oh, devils, I thought, horrified. If Korther was a demon, could it be that Zenira was too?

Never in my life, when I thought of her, when I saw her, had I thought of such a possibility. And yet it was so obvious! For a moment, we looked at each other like two statues. Then she smiled, put down her glass, and said:

“Good night.”

“Good night,” I said, my voice choked.

She gave me a curious look, and as she crossed the threshold, she turned and said:

“By the way. I have a geography test tomorrow. Wish me luck.”

“Oh. Natural. Good luck,” I replied, surprised. Then, regaining my composure, I said, gwak-style, “Have a good swim all the way, shyurine.”

I saw her smile, and she went back to her room. When I heard the door close, I let out all the air in my lungs. Yal laughed out loud.

“If Korther hears you call her shyurine, he’ll kick you out, sari. Anyway. I think you’d better leave. Before Korther comes back. This Black Hawk thing… I’ll talk to him about it. But seriously, Mor-eldal, I don’t think it’s that bad. Stay out of the Labyrinth. Tell Manras the same thing. And nothing will happen to you, you hear? You don’t have to be afraid.”

I frowned, and although I was disappointed that he didn’t take things as seriously as I wanted, the fact that he implied that I was afraid made me contain myself, and I assured:

“It runs. I’m not afraid. I just thought Korther might… Okay. Never mind. I’m off.”

Yal nodded vigorously.

“Come to my house tomorrow afternoon. At six o’clock. I invite you. There’s someone I want you to meet. Will you come?”

“Natural,” I huffed. “Who do you have to introduce me to?”

“Well. A friend. Since I told her a little about you, she wants to meet you. But don’t worry—”

“I’m not worried,” I cut him off, in suspense. “But… this friend, is she the lady you were going to the theater with?”

I could see Yal’s broad smile in the darkness.

“That’s right.”

I smiled back at him.

“Blasthell.”

Yal cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Well. Take care of yourself, sari, huh?”

I nodded, patted him on the shoulder, and a few moments later, I was outside. I headed for the Bivouac, my thoughts racing. Why didn’t Yal believe me when I told him that the Black Hawk wanted to kill me? Because he obviously didn’t know I’d killed his son. And why did I feel so awkward when I met Zenira? Devils. I couldn’t explain it.

I shook my head in confusion, and taking a deep breath, I sped through the darker streets of Estergat. I reached the Cat Quarter when another disturbing question came to me: what would I do if Adoya suddenly appeared with his seven dogs and set them on me?

It was a question that would give anyone nightmares.

15 Don’t let him get lost

The next day, I awoke in Swift’s shelter, shivering with cold. I had become so accustomed to the warm blankets enchanted by my master, and to the heavy blankets of the barber’s house, that I now shivered like a leaf. Only the rodaria root that Lin the Daredevil passed me managed to dull the cold. Dakis would have grumbled if he had seen me, but the rodaria was a blessing.

Since Rogan had not yet told Swift, I took it upon myself to tell all the companions about the Black Hawk, warned them, and Swift agreed that all sokwatas should avoid the Labyrinth. When Manras and Dil still did not appear, the kap gave instructions that, if anyone saw them, he should tell them to go to the Esplanade. I would have liked to go and look for them, but I had to give up risky expeditions because of Little Wolf: the little one refused to let me go alone, and although mute, he put on such a distressed face every time I walked away that I finally decided to take him with me; but, of course, with him, I couldn’t enter the Labyrinth and hope to leg it fast enough.

So I set about answering other problems: I went to mump at the Great Temple, with Rogan and Swift, collected a few nails, and killed the hunger. I was sitting with some companions in the noisy market place of Riskel, playing morra and glancing around regularly, when suddenly I saw a familiar face.

“Thunders,” I said. And I cried out, “Hey, Davik!”

I caught the elf gwak from the day before just pinching an onion at a stall. Other companions of mine noticed, and we laughed at Davik’s startled face. I beckoned him over, and he came forward. He was alone.

“Have you gone from clocks to onions, comrade?” I teased him. “They didn’t keep you in the slammer long. Come on, sit down! Here, a little bread, to accompany the burning bulb, it goes down better. Y’know, Adoya’s dogs attacked this good gwak the other day,” I explained to the others. “But that lucky devil got away with it alive and kicking, eh?”

Davik, though slightly suspicious at first, soon relaxed in our company. I offered him some rodaria and smograss, and he confessed that he had never stolen a watch, that he was a lousy thief, and that he earned his living by shining shoes and selling shells. He came from the country, where an old woman had taken care of him until he was eight. After telling this much, he soon became a new gwak in the band. One did not need much to be a Wise One: being sympathetic and honest was enough. And, no matter what people said, there were many such people among the gwaks.

Around five o’clock we moved to the Esplanade, I made several rounds with Little Wolf to ask the newsboys and gwaks if they had seen a dark elf and a devil-eyed human kid. It was in vain: they all shook their heads. More than one gwak told me the same story as Davik, that they had been attacked by Adoya’s dogs and that he had asked them the same questions. None of them mentioned that Adoya was also looking for me, and I wondered if any of them had made the connection.

Finally, when it was almost six o’clock, I returned to my companions at the foot of the promontory that led to the Capitol. Possu and Little Mouse were following me. I don’t know why the little ones always followed me, especially when I took Little Wolf with me.

I sighed, declaring to my comrades:

“Nothing. Something must have happened to them. It’s just weird. I’ve asked at least a thousand people.”

“No way,” Swift articulated.

“Well, at least forty,” I corrected.

“No, no,” Swift snorted, rising to his feet. And, with an amused expression, he indicated something with his chin. “There they are.”

Jumping up, I turned, surveyed the passers-by in the square, and… let out a loud:

“Those damn gwaks!”

I dashed towards Manras and Dil. They had not heard me, they were too far away, and they were running away across the square. I caught up with them, went around them, and blocked their way, shouting cheerfully:

“Blasthell, blasthell, shyurs! Where the hell have you been?”

They were startled by my sudden appearance, and I had to push them to keep them from running into me. When they stopped, they looked back nervously, and Manras said:

“I thought you were at the barber shop! We went back there, and the barber told us: go to hell.” Agitated, he grabbed my sleeve and pointed in a direction. “Do you see him?”

I blinked, bewildered.

“What?”

Manras stared at the crowd. Dil explained:

“Adoya. He saw us. The thing is… last night, since your cousin wasn’t there and you told us not to go to the Bivouac, we went to…”

“To the bird house!” Manras interrupted in a hasty tone. “And, when we got out of the forest, a guard sent us back to the charity house. We legged it. And Adoya…” He fell silent, inhaling deeply. “He’s coming!”

He signalled without any discretion, and then Adoya saw us. He was a tall man with a dry face and brown hair. I had only seen him once in daylight, but I recognized him at once by the dog on his leash. Besides, having lived with the Ojisaries for so long, Manras and Dil couldn’t possibly be wrong.

After watching us for a few seconds, he came closer. I tensed up like the string of a bow. My first instinct was to leg it, but, blasthell, where to, anyway? I was in the largest square in Estergat, surrounded by people and flies. Adoya could do nothing to us. And I did my best not to show my fear to my cronies.

So I made us move calmly towards the place where our companions were, without losing sight of Adoya. He was following us. Good. I stood between Manras and Dil and watched that criminal approach with a defiant expression. The dog was sticking out its tongue. Adoya stopped, glanced indifferently at the gwaks sitting there, and then looked again, not at Manras, but at me. His pale eyes sparkled.

“Yes…” he mused. “It’s you.”

And after a silence, he added:

“Come at midnight, alone, to the dead end of the Ojisaries. If you don’t come, your family will suffer. Not this one,” he said, gesturing dismissively to my companions, “the… Malaxalra,” he muttered.

I opened my eyes wide, frozen. How the hell did he know I…? Adoya bowed slightly and added in a low snake-like voice:

“Your hands are dirty, gwak. You must pay for what you have done. Think of it. Your life is not worth the lives of a barber and his honest family.”

He straightened up, and with a sardonic expression, observed:

“If you behave yourself, maybe the Black Hawk won’t kill you. If you misbehave and don’t show up before dawn…” He blew between his lips, “Pow. Goodbye family.”

More than cruelty, his expression reflected fatalism and profound disinterest. He made sure that his words had had some effect, and then he pulled on the dog’s leash and walked away into the square. He left me speechless, stunned, horrified… I could not conceive such an absurd threat. What did the barber and his family have to do with the Black Hawk? Nothing! Absolutely nothing.

After a silence during which I did not move a muscle, Manras and Dil slipped in front of me with worried expressions.

“Are you alright, Sharpy?” the little dark elf asked.

I breathed in, and then abruptly let go:

“Why didn’t he say anything to you? Why? I thought he was looking for you, too.”

My voice sounded harsh, almost accusatory. I caught Manras’ shocked face. At that moment, the bells struck six, and I frowned. I had to go somewhere at six o’clock, didn’t I? Ah, yes. To Yal’s. I snorted and gave the dark elf a slight shake.

“Bah. Ayo. I’ll fix this, for sure. Don’t worry. See you at the Bivouac.”

And I left the companions behind. We were just at the foot of the Capitol promontory, and Yal’s house was near. I reached it quickly. I was about to knock on the door when suddenly I heard behind me a:

“Draen!”

Yalet approached dressed as a very proper young civil servant. He was accompanied by two friends, both good-looking but perhaps not as nail-pinched as him.

“You are punctual,” he observed, satisfied. “I see you haven’t lost the good habits. We must meet Nael in front of the Gallery. Tonight there’ll be shows there.” He hesitated. “You still want to come, don’t you?”

After glancing at the two friends again, I pulled Yal by the sleeve.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

I did not wait for him to answer; I pulled him away with force. With an expression of both concern and exasperation, Yal took a few steps away with me and asked:

“What happens now?”

I explained:

“I saw Adoya.”

Yal blinked.

“Adoya?”

“The one with the dogs!” I exclaimed. “He works for the Black Hawk. And he s-said t-that…”

Yal put a soothing hand on my shoulder as I went blank. He glanced nervously at his two companions who were waiting impatiently. He said in a low voice:

“Don’t worry. I talked to Korther last night. The Black Hawk is not a danger. Apparently he’s been poisoned. And he’s gone mad. No one listens to him anymore. He’s ruined.”

I shook my head. The Black Hawk was ruined, it runs, so what? Adoya was still working for him. Realizing that he hadn’t succeeded in calming me down, Yal added:

“Don’t enter the Labyrinth, and everything will be fine. Believe me, sari. Without his mine, that madman is a nobody. He’s finished.”

I wanted to protest, but then Yal’s expression reflected so well the annoyance of my stubbornness with the Black Hawk that I knew I had spoiled his party, and a sudden shame came over me. I stammered and repeated:

“He’s finished.”

“Finished,” my master confirmed with a small, soothing smile.

“Yal!” suddenly called the voice of one of his friends. “My fiancée is going to wring me out if we’re late. Come on, let’s get going and you keep talking to the kid on the way, okay?”

Yal nodded and turned to me.

“So, are you coming or not? There’s going to be dancers, singers… And, of course, I’ll treat you to a full dinner.”

I bowed my head, truly tormented.

“Sorry, Elassar. Today I can’t.”

My master was just opening his mouth to protest when the other friend called to him. He sighed and, before walking away, said to me:

“Take care of yourself, sari. If you’re looking for me, you know where I am.”

I nodded silently and saw him disappear into the crowd with his two friends. I let out a sigh. Blasthell. And what was I supposed to do now?

I was thinking chaotically, without coming up with any concrete plan, when I suddenly saw movement in the square. Passers-by were turning towards two flies that were heading… towards me? At least, that was my impression. Thinking that one of them had recognized me as the kid who had fooled them at the police station, I dashed towards the stalls in the square. There weren’t many of them, most of them were in Riskel and not on the Esplanade, but that allowed me to confirm my fears without being caught: the flies were after me.

But what the blasthell? Since when did the flies care about looking for a simple gwak who escaped from a cell?

The flies began to shout at me to stop, and I, foreseeing that they would give me a beating of a thousand demons, did not listen to them. I reached the Fountain of the Manticore when suddenly a third fly appeared out of nowhere and whacked me in the back with a club. I collapsed, hit the edge of the fountain, and my world turned into a bottomless pit.

* * *

When I regained consciousness, I was being carried like a sack of carrots on the street, on the back of a fly. I felt as if my head was a melon filled with boiling water.

I didn’t immediately understand what was going on. I knew that the flies had caught me. I knew that I had a terrible fear of flies. And I knew that my head was hurt. Only these three things came to mind as the police officer carried me down the street—or was it up the street?—accompanied by a young valley girl who smelled of flowers. It took me a long time to realize that she was my sister. And we entered the barber’s shop before I even noticed where we were going.

I must have looked terrible, because, in spite of their evident anger, neither the barber nor the lady dared to punish me for running away during the night. She put me on a mat in the dining room and cleaned my blood mechanically. She did not seem to care much whether she hurt me or not. Finally, she mumbled something to me. I didn’t understand her. And, not understanding her, I became seriously concerned. Had my head gone stupid? The thought filled my eyes with tears of horror. My mother shook my shoulder. Then a voice said:

“He doesn’t understand the language of the valley, honey. You won’t get anywhere that way.”

The barber came into the room. I was so relieved to realize that my head was not so bad after all, that I gasped and stood up, muttering:

“Why, sir?”

This question meant everything at once: why did you send the flies after me, why don’t you leave me alone, why…? Why are you looking at me with those dark faces?

Indeed, the expressions of both of them made me fear the worst. Skelrog, the schoolmaster, was also there, just as somber, just as tense. Gradually my mind cleared, and I saw without doubt that something strange was going on here. Something very strange.

Without answering my question, the barber replied:

“Does your head hurt?”

I swallowed, and under his eagle-eyed gaze, I lied:

“No, sir.”

It hurt, but I had withstood worse pain because of the sokwata before. I could stand it. The barber frowned, scrutinizing me, and then he ordered me:

“Sit down.”

He pointed to the table. I sat down with stiff movements, and Skelrog, the barber, and the lady did the same. I watched them, petrified. Their expressions gave me the creeps. I tried not to let it show, and almost shouted at them, “Don’t take me to the centre, please, let me go!” And another little voice said to me, “Let me go to the Black Hawk and you will never hear from me again…”

Then my mother, with unusual rudeness, asked:

“Well? Where did you take him?”

The question left me confused. Where had I taken what? I hardly had time to ponder the meaning of this strange question, for almost immediately the front door was heard to open followed by quick footsteps to the dining room. Skrindwar, the glassmaker, appeared. He looked around the room and asked urgently.

“Is there any news? Did he tell you where he is?”

Skelrog shook his head.

“He hasn’t told us anything yet.”

Four pairs of eyes converged on me. I felt increasingly alarmed.

“I don’t understand,” I confessed, and suddenly thinking I understood, I hastened to say, “Hey, I didn’t steal anything. I swear it. When I left, I broke the bar, but it was already almost broken. And I swear I didn’t tell the flies that you were my parents…”

“Quiet!” my mother thundered abruptly, rising to her feet. I straightened up in my chair, ready to bound away like a squirrel. The barber lady’s face was tight and angry. “Never mind your devilry: right now it’s my son who’s in danger. My son!”

I blinked as she wept and fell back into the chair, comforted by Skrindwar. I was totally lost. Her son, she had said. What son? Kakzail? Samfen? Skelrog was perhaps the only one who guessed that my silence was due to incomprehension, not reserve. The schoolmaster finally explained in a somber tone.

“You see, Ashig. Sarova disappeared last night. His classmates said that lately he’s been having relationships with street kids. It’s been almost twenty hours since he’s been reported missing, and the police still have no leads.”

I frowned, thought about it, and… widened my eyes.

“You think I took him with me?”

There was a heavy silence. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed. Sarova! The one who looked at me with a superior air and spied on my every move as if he were looking for a reason to report it to the barber. Him? He had gone with some gwaks?

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” I protested. “I didn’t do anything. I barely spoke to him…”

“Where have you been for the last twenty hours?” the barber cut me off harshly. “I want to know exactly what you’ve been doing. No lies.”

I let the air out of my lungs. Oh, dear. This was like an interrogation of flies. I swallowed. Now what could I say? I tried to look humble and nodded slowly.

“It runs. I legged it from the shop. I met some… newsboys, friends of mine. I played dice with them for a while. And… then I came back to my gang’s shelter,” I told, omitting my visit to the jail and at Korther’s. “And I crashed. In the morning, I begged in the temple with my comrades. And in the afternoon…” I shrugged. “Been doing stuff. I helped unload things from a cart. And I worked for my bread,” I declared with dignity. I reached into my pockets to pull out the nails I’d earned… I pouted. “I’ll be damned, they filched them from me! The flies did it, for sure…”

I fell silent. The barber had just put half nails on the table. Blasthell, so he had picked my pocket, and I had not even noticed… He took out another item and put it on the middle of table. His face was impassive.

“Can you tell me what it is?”

I arched my eyebrows and nodded.

“This is rodaria root. It’s good for the cold.”

And for the pain and hunger, I added mentally. Good mother, how my head hurt… The barber banged his fist on the table, startling us all.

“Rodaria is a drug, you moron. You start with rodaria and end up taking karuja. I can’t understand how you can be so stupid,” he hissed.

I gave him a cold look. Stupid, your mother, I grumbled mentally. And I said:

“I haven’t eaten karuja in ages.”

My reply seemed to shock them. After a silence, my mother said in a curiously soft voice:

“Say, Ashig, if you know where Sarova is, tell us for the love of your ancestors.”

I shook my head meditatively.

“I don’t know where he is.” And, as she darkened, I added, “But I can find out. If Sarova has gone to the Cats, it will be as easy as saying ayo. I have comrades everywhere. And not just gwaks. For sure, I can find him. It’s not like the wolves ate him up or anything.”

The barber had a frown on his face. Skelrog was shaking his head. Skrindwar stated emphatically:

“The police are not doing anything. I’m with Ashig.”

“Me too,” a voice suddenly intervened. Samfen stepped out of the hallway and into the dining room. He had a decided expression. “The flies have their arms crossed: let’s go and look for him ourselves.”

“Sam!” the lady protested.

“Ashig can find him, mother,” Samfen asserted, and he looked at me fervently. “Right?”

My brother’s eyes shone with such confidence and hope that I did not hesitate for a second and said:

“Very round. I’ll go ask around,” I announced, getting up.

“Wait a minute,” the barber thundered. “You’re not going to go by yourself.”

I arched an eyebrow and… snorted.

“Ah, no, no. You can’t come with me, sir. The gwaks would be nervous. They’d think you were a fly. And I, a snitch. That doesn’t run—”

“Skrindwar will accompany you,” the barber replied.

The young glassmaker jerked up.

“Me? W-Well,” he stammered, agreeing. “Okay.”

“What about me?” Samfen asked eagerly. “I want to go, father. Please. I can pretend to be a gwak—”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” the barber cut him off. However, after a brief pause, he relented, “You go too. I’m letting you go because I know you’re level-headed. Don’t go into dangerous places. Skrindwar, I trust you not to put yourselves in danger.”

I was already waiting at the door of the dining room. Samfen soon joined me. Skrindwar hesitated.

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to maybe take a knife with us, just in case?” he suggested.

I smiled up to my ears.

“A ragingly good one,” I assured him. “You got any knives around here?”

The barber gave me a dark look, and after some rummaging, he pulled out a clasp knife and handed it to Skrindwar. The mother hugged the glassmaker and the architect, and I was secretly beginning to feel a touch of envy when the lady laid a gentle hand on my cheek and looked at me intently.

“Find him, my son. Don’t let him get lost.”

In my mind, I added: don’t let him get lost like you. I looked away and nodded gravely.

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry.”

And to my amazement, she kissed me on the forehead. I couldn’t avoid showing her an uncomfortable expression, but deep down I was moved. If, before, I had had the motivation to pick up a little brother who had no idea what it meant to be a gwak, now I also had the motivation to ease the worries of a mother who was ready to give me her affection. All I had to do was give her a son back.

“Don’t do anything rash and be back before midnight, without fail,” the barber warned us.

“Without fail!” I replied cheerfully.

And so we, three brothers, left the barber shop, the youngest leading the other two into the mysterious depths of the slums.

16 My creepiest heroic demand

First, I decided to go to the Bivouac. Discreetly, I nibbled on the rodaria twig hidden in my sleeve… I had snatched it from the barber when he wasn’t looking. What the hell: it was mine. And it helped ease the pain a little. I had tried to speed up the healing with spells, but I needed to concentrate to do that, and I think some of them only made the pain worse, and almost made me fall into a black pit again. So I said to myself: well, it will heal on its own.

Halfway through, Skrindwar asked:

“Wouldn’t it be better if we went downstairs?”

“Trust me. First, we’re going to see the gang,” I explained. Through the shadows of the street, I perceived their apprehension and casually assured them, “Don’t worry: they’re all honest gwaks.”

I continued to walk briskly, and my two bodyguards did not protest. After all, I was the only one who knew the area. When I arrived at the Bivouac, I told them:

“Watch out for holes and stones. Walk where I walk. Come on, this way.”

They stumbled a few times, but nothing serious. We passed two or three gwak camps and finally arrived at the Wise Ones’ spot. As it was already dark, the whole troop had returned. They had a fire burning and were sitting around it, quietly sharing bottles of radrasia. Noticing our approach, Swift stood up.

“Who goes there?”

“It’s Sharpy!” Damba exclaimed. Having been a sokwata, he had better eyesight.

“Ayo, ayo!” I greeted as I joined them. “I am in the middle of a search mission. These are my brothers from the barber shop. Ayo, Little Wolf!”

I welcomed the little one with joy while Swift snorted.

“Blasthell. You whacked yourself good on the skull this afternoon, namesake, didn’t you?”

They must have seen the commotion on the Esplanade and how the flies had chased me.

“A bestial blow,” I confessed, taking off my cap. “Sure I’m gonna have a lump like Manras, the past moon. I didn’t become an isturbag by a hair.”

Swift laughed.

“Don’t worry, we wouldn’t know the difference.” He gave me a joking push and pointed to the fire. “Sit down and let’s talk.”

I went and sat down between my comrades, knocking the Priest’s hat as I went, and Lin passed me a bottle. I took a sip and asked Rogan to examine my head.

“Is it bleeding?”

“Let me see, push your hand away, or I won’t see anything.” I took my hand off, and Rogan assured, “It’s not bleeding.”

“No?”

“Not anymore. There’s a scab,” he explained.

“Why don’t you do what you did with Manras?” little Possu asked.

His question drew curious looks from me, for the comrades thought me a great magician. I cleared my throat quietly, withdrew my hand from my head, and took another sip of radrasia. Then I said:

“It’s not that simple.”

They believed me. After all, healing wasn’t easy: there was a reason why quacks and witches earned so much and killed so many. I looked up and noticed that Swift was having a conversation with Skrindwar. Gosh. I pricked up my ears, but the companions were making noise, so I whispered to Rogan:

“Tonight’s gonna be busy.”

And I rose with him to join my brothers, Swift, and Syrdio. The latter spat as he saw me approaching.

“Sharpy. I see you coming. It’s one thing to look for a mate and another to look for a daddy’s boy who’s run away. Those always go home. He’ll soon get tired of sleeping on the street. And, if not, hunger will make him go home. Ain’t I right?”

That was Syrdio all the way. I armed myself with patience and replied:

“You don’t have to help. It’s just, if you see a kid that looks just like me but a little bit smaller, well, tell me, that’s all.”

“And why should I?” Syrdio retorted. “You yourself said the barber was an isturbag.”

I opened my eyes wide, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see my brothers’ discomfort. I was indignant:

“I never said that!”

“Ha. You did,” Syrdio scoffed. “Didn’t he, Swift?”

The kap preferred not to say anything, and I flipped out. I pushed Syrdio. He was almost fourteen and taller, but I knew that sometimes those things were not what mattered most. Having guts was more important. The problem was that Syrdio didn’t lack grit either. The gwak responded by shoving me too and mocking:

“Don’t piss me off. You also said it was bestial boring, at the barber’s. So, if your brother doesn’t come back, maybe it’s because he’s better off outside.”

“Or that he’s in trouble,” I retorted, calming myself. “You’re talking without knowing.”

“Just one question, Sharpy,” Swift intervened in a mediating tone. “Are your parents paying a reward or is this charity work?”

I pouted, hesitated and said:

“The reward is mine to give.”

The redheaded elf looked interested and grabbed me by the shoulders so we could walk away some steps.

“How much?”

I shrugged, undecided.

“Five goldies?”

“Boo. Five for twenty gwaks?” Swift breathed out. “That’ll be gone in an afternoon.”

“That’s twenty-five nails a head,” I protested. “At Carnation, I met a little spinner who earned less than that, and he worked thirteen hours a day. Don’t act like a nail-pincher. You’re the first to say so…”

I was interrupted by a burst of laughter from Swift. He shook his head in amusement.

“It runs. Five siatos. But it’s only okay because it’s you, namesake. I’ll tell everyone.”

“Thank you, kap!” I exclaimed happily, victorious.

A few moments later, most of the companions left the shelter with instructions to ask after a copper kid named Sarova. Swift acted lazy and decided to stay with Syrdio. I wanted to leave Little Wolf in charge of my cronies, but Manras protested that he too wanted to help, he frightened me by telling me that Adoya knew the Bivouac refuge, and, finally, defeated, I grumbled:

“Well, it runs, you guys do what you want.”

And I went away with my brothers, Manras, Dil, Little Wolf, and the Priest.

“Where are you going to get these five siatos from?” Samfen whispered to me.

I sighed. So he had heard the negotiation.

“No idea,” I admitted. “From somewhere. I’ll think of something. For now, let’s just go down… Watch out for rocks!”

I leapt from rock to rock and landed in the muddy street that bordered the Bivouac. There were no streetlights there. I felt a little dizzy, and thinking that it was due to the wound in my head, I took out the rodaria and bit it. It lifted my spirits. Rogan was the next to join me with Little Wolf on his shoulders, and he whispered to me:

“Hey, they look like nice people, don’t they?”

I smiled. He was talking about my brothers.

“Yes. A different culture, as Yabir would say. But friendly. Say, Priest. I don’t know where Syrdio got that I said the barber was an isturbag. Did I say that?”

“Uh… you said it,” the Priest confirmed. “But, just once, casually, without insisting too much. Bah, Syrdio is like that, he’s an isturbag.”

“Somewhat,” I agreed.

As soon as my brothers and cronies were safely out of the Bivouac, I turned my back on them and started down the street with Rogan.

We went straight to the Labyrinth. First, we passed through Wool Square, but I saw some of my companions already busy questioning the gwaks that weren’t asleep, and after a moment’s hesitation and a glance around, I said:

“Let’s keep going.”

My brothers were following me closely. I quickened my pace. And they sped up. They looked worried. I rolled my eyes and whispered to Rogan:

“Do you think they’d be scared stiff if we took them to The Drawer?”

The Priest huffed, stifling a laugh.

“Most likely. But I don’t think your brother went in there.”

“No,” I agreed. And I joked, “That place’s for seasoned gwaks.”

So we avoided The Drawer and went through the noisy and busy streets of the main “market” of the quarter. It was a labyrinth of stairways, courtyards, and galleries full of more or less idle sajits, warmly colored lamps, and all sorts of junk. It was near the Frashluc gang’s underground Great Refectory, where I had spent several days singing and shining shoes after the attack of Braggart.

Here, gwaks were commonplace, yet few liked to hang around these parts. Too many risks and fights for dubious gains. And still, many gwaks who didn’t dare to stick their nose out of the Cats and didn’t want to join big gangs ended up here, doing whatever work was available to them. As far as I knew, Guel the Soothsayer, Slaryn’s sokwata friend, had made a small reputation for herself here as a fortune-telling witch and was earning a living like a champ. But not everyone was so lucky.

I asked several gwaks I passed if they had seen a kid who looked a lot like me. They all shook their heads. One of them, a boy from the Valley, looked at Rogan with round eyes. Under my curious look, the Priest gave him a half-smile and walked past me, murmuring with amusement:

“This guy, one day I cursed him, and right after I did, a dead bird fell on his head. Since then, every time he sees me, he’s scared like he was standing before the Holy Patron Spirit itself. Leave him to me.”

Without touching him, the Priest came so close to the Valley boy that he looked as if he was going to devour him. The poor boy listened to his whispered words and stammered something. Rogan jerked up.

“Really?”

The Valley boy nodded and glanced around nervously. He muttered something else. Rogan snorted.

“Speak in Drionsan, blasthell.”

“He speaks the language of the valley?” Skrindwar interjected.

Suddenly, my brother said something incomprehensible. Those “chkldehledekele”. The Valley gwak looked at him for a moment, and then he answered fluently in his native tongue. Since I could not understand anything, I stopped paying attention, turned my head, and… I saw Manras stick his hand in Skrindwar’s pocket. I could not believe my eyes. Our eyes met, I gave him a warning pout, and the little dark elf stepped aside, obedient. Immediately, I caught him by the arm and hissed in his ear:

“They’re my brothers, demorjed. We don’t steal nothing from them. You get it?”

Manras nodded innocently. I sighed and took the hand of Little Wolf, who was playing at smashing the Master against the mud. He had broken its arm, and the little one showed it to me. I rolled my eyes.

“Well, obviously, if you treat him like that, it’s only natural that he’ll break into pieces.” I put the skeletal arm in his coat pocket and asked, “Well then! How long is the chitchat going to go on? What’s he saying?”

Skrindwar shook his head, altered.

“He says that this morning three boys of Sarova’s age came. One of them was a Valley boy. He spoke with him in the language of the valley. He did not tell him his name, but he heard his companions say that it was ‘Sharpy’. Apparently, he’s a young thief-magician who belongs to the brotherhood of… the Black Daggers. His physical description coincides, but… there’s no way it’s him, right?”

I swallowed. Very round. It couldn’t be him, because that one was me.

Oh, blasthell. What the hell was Sarova doing pretending to be me?

“What a son of an isturbag,” I muttered.

I looked at my brothers out of the corner of my eye, and then at the other Valley boy who was watching me with a strange attention.

“Sharpy,” Samfen murmured, startled. “That’s… that’s what your friends call you, right?”

I was speechless. I turned to Rogan, to my cronies, I looked down at Little Wolf… and then Manras called to me, his gaze fixed:

“Sharpy.”

“What?” I replied.

The little dark elf held out his finger without any discretion. I turned and saw a figure leaning against the wall at the top of a flight of stairs. It looked as if the spy had been there for quite some time. I frowned and tried to see his features. Then I gasped. It was Diver. Seeing that I was looking at him, my friend gave me a sign. He wanted to talk to me alone. Intrigued, I said to the others:

“Wait here, it runs? I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Skrindwar asked.

“Gotta talk to someone,” I replied evasively.

And I ran up the stairs. I saw Diver walking away towards an alley. I was on the alert, for if he wanted to speak to me in secret, it probably meant that he had been sent. I knew well that Diver was a gwak of Frashluc. And, despite my trust, that made me slow my pace when I reached the top, and I glanced around. We were outside of the market area, and the alley was deserted and dark.

“Diver?”

“Here,” my friend whispered.

I approached his shadow. I smiled.

“Ayo, mate. Why are you being so mysterious?”

In the darkness, we could hardly see each other. Diver answered me in my ear:

“Don’t go to the Black Hawk. Your brother’s not with him.”

I felt a chill. The mere idea that Sarova might be with the Black Hawk had never crossed my mind. And yet, it made sense. Especially if Sarova had been impersonating me. The more I thought about it, blasthell, what an isturbag…

Then Diver’s words echoed in my head again, and I drew in a breath.

“Do you know where Sarova is?”

Diver sighed.

“Yes. But I can’t show the place to the people you’re with. Only you.”

I squinted, uncomfortable.

“And… can’t you bring him here? I have time.”

“I can’t,” Diver replied. “Come with me now. Otherwise you won’t see Sarova again. Frashluc has him. Some isturbag thought it was you, and they got him. They won’t let go until you turn yourself in.”

This left me both shocked and confused.

“And why does Frashluc want to get me?”

Diver cleared his throat.

“Because you’re a Black Dagger. Frashluc is mad at Korther. He thinks that man’s gonna blow up all his underground tunnels… That’s what I heard. But surely there’s more to it. Come.”

He grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled. I protested:

“Wait, I’ll tell the others…”

“No,” Diver growled. “If Korther finds out where you are because of me, they’ll pop me off, Sharpy. I promise you… I promise you that once we get there, I’ll help you get away. I promise. But right now, come with me, comrade.”

He was so insistent and spoke in such an unusually pleading voice that I listened. After all, Diver was a great mate of mine, he’d taught me almost everything I knew about pilfering tricks, we’d worked together selling dandepassion, we’d played a thousand games, and, well, I trusted him almost completely. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned me: I was aware that I was going straight into the lion’s den to get Sarova out and myself in.

We did not have to walk far, but we did turn several corners. Finally, we came to a dead end and stopped in front of an old man sitting on a barrel. Diver whispered a few words in his ear. The old man shook his head gently and tilted the wand in his right hand. The way is clear, he seemed to say. Diver pulled me by the sleeve, and I was about to follow him when the old man blocked my path with his wand.

“Say, boy. Do you like chocolate?”

I looked at him, surprised, and nodded.

“I do, sir. But I’ve only tasted it once.”

“Only once? Sacrilege!” he exclaimed in a whisper. And with his other hand, he held out something to me. “Take it. It’s the best remedy for cheering up.”

I took what he gave me. I smelled it. I hesitated.

“Is it a gift?”

The old man answered, and I could tell by his tone that he was smiling:

“Of course, my boy. A gift. And now go with Nat.”

I put the chocolate in my mouth and followed Diver. He went down some outside stairs, and as we went along a narrow path, I suddenly asked in a whisper:

“It wasn’t poison, was it?”

Diver let out a muffled laugh.

“Of course it wasn’t, shyur. You’re more suspicious than a chary cat. No. Old Bayl just thinks all kids, even gwaks, should eat chocolate once in a while. He says it wakes the spirit. He’s a good man. Too bad he’s eyeless.”

I arched an eyebrow. Eyeless? The old man had not given me the impression of being blind. But with old blind men you could never be sure. Knowing all this, I savored what was left of chocolate in my mouth even more.

We climbed a ladder, crossed a small terrace, and finally entered a house that was sunken into the rock. Diver had the key to the door. Inside, we passed several people whom Diver did not even greet. We descended through a trap door and finally arrived… at the underground Great Refectory of Frashluc. I recognized it at once. Except that, unlike the last time, this day it was almost deserted. There were six people sitting at one table and two more at the end of another. Sitting in the middle of the first group, I noticed a small figure buried under one-armed, burly Swashbuckler, one of the henchmen, who was saying:

“And then, guess what I did! I cut off my own hand so that I wouldn’t get coped by the flies!”

My heart sank as I recognized Sarova in that small, trembling figure. Oh, damn them… I blurted out loudly:

“What bullshit are you telling him, Swashbuckler! Don’t tell my brother any weird stuff—”

“If it isn’t the Bard!” the one-armed man exclaimed in a stentorian voice.

“And the real one this time,” Fishka laughed, a paunchy brown-haired caitian. “Come here, come here!”

Diver walked away and glanced at me with concern before disappearing down a corridor. I approached the table of the six Cats with a scowl on my face.

“I’m coming, but you let go of Sarova right now,” I demanded.

“We will, man, as soon as we’re given permission to do so,” Fishka promised. “For now, he’s staying here. He’s told us of his torments, and we’ve given him advice, right? Say, Bard. Have you had dinner?”

I glanced neutrally at a frightened Sarova, looked at a plate that lay there with leftover porridge, and shook my head, wary.

“No.”

“Well, well!” Fishka said cheerfully. “Let’s do this: sing something for us, and we’ll see if you earn your dinner. Careful, because, if you sing badly, we’ll chain you up, eh?”

I gave the paunchy man a sullen look.

“I thought Frashluc wanted me for something other than bawling.”

Swashbuckler rose to his feet, standing before me like an ogre. I did not back down. He seized me with his one hand, lifted me into the air, and resting me upright on the table, he said:

“Sing, gwak.”

Swashbuckler was one of those people who, once they had an idea, it was hard to make them change it. I thought that if I began to sing they might soften and at least let Sarova go, and so I agreed.

“It runs. What should I sing?”

One of those sitting at the other end of the room howled:

“The beauties of the neighborhood!”

I knew this one by heart and so well that I could have sung it in my sleep. And since it had been a long time since I had sung at the top of my lungs, I took the opportunity. It did me a lot of good. I modulated my voice, perhaps not like a great singer, but with an unmistakable passion, my mind got away from the refectory, and my mood soared. I went on with the Kartikada, then they asked me for the song of the two turtle-doves. Finally, I won the porridge. I swallowed it in a peace-and-virtue while the Cats continued a game of cards, and asked:

“Can Sarova go now?”

I had seen my brother try to slip away twice during the songs, without success. In response, I received a blow which awakened the pain in my head, and I became dizzy. Mechanically, without protest, I took out the rodaria twig and began to chew on it, more and more perplexed. Why did Frashluc want to catch me? I didn’t know, but deep down I hoped it was good news. I mean, I didn’t know what Frashluc wanted from me, but maybe I could… I don’t know, maybe I could tell him about the Black Hawk and Adoya and ask for his help. Korther hadn’t given me any. Maybe Frashluc would give it to me. The only risk was that he might take days to deign to listen to me. And, if I didn’t go to the Black Hawk this very night, my family would go “pow”.

From time to time, people stopped by the Great Refectory. The card players seemed to be absorbed in their game, but I knew they were always watching us. That didn’t mean we couldn’t talk. I took Sarova by the arm and said:

“Come.”

I didn’t go far. Just enough so that the adult Cats would know it was a private conversation. And then I taunted him:

“So, you’re Sharpy now, too?”

Sarova did not loosen his lips. His direct gaze and his expression of a seasoned gwak made me smile.

“And here I thought you hated gwaks,” I resumed and, smiling, spread my hands and confessed, “I feel flattered, bro. This is the first time anyone has pretended to be me. Was this an idea of your fellow gwaks?”

Sarova looked away as if ashamed and shrugged. I cleared my throat.

“Well, well, did you swallow your tongue, shyur?”

Amused, I gave him a pat on the head and went to sit against a wall. I waited. After a while, Sarova came and crouched down beside me.

“Are we prisoners?” he muttered.

I made a casual pout.

“Bah. Better to be a prisoner here than at Carnation, believe me.”

There was silence between us. In the room, we could hear the occasional laughter and exclamations of the card players. Then Sarova said:

“You sing well.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“Oh. Well, the truth is, this time I sold out for not much. Other times, I’ve won chicken feet and some dishes that looked like the dishes of a king. Frashluc people have got a capital twist. Just look at that big guy over there. But I’ve showed up in hard times, it seems,” I sighed.

I saw him smile, and I lowered my voice:

“The most direct exit, shyur, is down the hall to the left. There’s a hallway. A door. And a house. And then you go out into a street, and going down and down, you come to Sheer Cliff Street, you know, just above the Hippodrome. The trouble is, there are probably eyes keeping watch. You’ll have to avoid them.”

Sarova nodded. He looked wide awake and alert. Perfect.

“If you manage to leg it,” I continued, “don’t say where you’ve been. With Frashluc, you don’t snitch, you understand?”

“I don’t snitch,” Sarova asserted with dignity.

I smiled.

“Good then.” I hesitated and added: “If you don’t want to go back to the barber’s, go to the Bivouac, on top of the Cats, where there’s the gravel, and ask for Swift. Tell him that Sharpy sends you. He’ll let you crash with the gang. All right?”

Sarova nodded nervously and said:

“All right. But… what about you? Aren’t you gonna get out of here too?”

“I have business,” I explained.

A glint of curiosity sprang up in Sarova’s dark eyes, and I knew he was about to ask a question, when suddenly Fishka cried out:

“Hey, gwak! Go get me that bag over there, will you?”

If the bag had been across the room, I would have said: natural, of course. And I would have found a way to get Sarova out of there, perhaps using harmonies. But the case was that the bag was ten paces from the paunchy guy. I snorted.

“Go get it yourself, slacker.”

However, as the paunchy man threatened to kick my ass, I got up and went to give him the bag. He gave me a good smack on the head anyway.

“Show a little respect for your elders, brat,” he snapped at me.

I staggered and faltered… My head was pounding like a drum. Fishka huffed in disgust.

“Thunder. Is that blood?”

The paunchy man’s hand was covered in blood. So my wound had reopened. Strangely enough, just the thought that my head was bloody, and that the blood on the paunchy man’s hand was my own, made such an impression on me that all at once my mind went to hell.

When I woke up, my tongue was on fire. Gosh. Again? Someone had put Lezia pepper in my mouth. Frashluc and his methods of waking people up…

I felt pressure on my head. Because it had been bandaged. And… I was no longer in the Great Refectory, but in a stone room with two men in chains and another standing before me with a torch. It was the Albino, the old Frashluc’s great friend. I did not know the two prisoners. There was no sign of Sarova.

“Hello, kid,” the Albino said to me calmly, “I’m afraid you’re next in line for questioning. Can you stand up?”

I blinked, huffing again, my mouth on fire.

“Water,” I stammered.

“I’ll give you some upstairs,” the Albino said.

“And who exactly is this boy, anyway?” interjected one of the prisoners, the one who was a dark elf. When the Albino did not answer, he added, “Frashluc is losing his mind, Albino. Questioning us like this…! You sons of rats. When our confreres find out about this—”

“No, Zarguik,” the Albino replied. “The one losing his mind is your kap, not Frashluc.”

Zarguik, I repeated to myself. Did he just say “Zarguik”? Despite the pepper and my daze, I finally remembered and opened my eyes wide. Of course! Zarguik! I remembered that Yalet had told me about a man named Zarguik, nicknamed the Jewel-Kisser. He was an expert at stealing precious jewels from high society, and he had never been caught before.

So, that meant… I swallowed, looking at the two men in chains. These two sajits were Black Daggers. And they had been interrogated. Okay, fine. But… interrogated about what?

“Get up, kid,” the Albino insisted.

Under the curious gaze of the Black Daggers, I stretched and rose to my feet. The Albino put a hand on my shoulder, and as a thousand confused questions swirled in my head, he led me out of the cell.

My confusion was not lessened when, instead of giving me a glass of water, the Albino gave me a glass of radrasia. He had led me upstairs to a small room where another man of Frashluc was also present. Both of them began to ask me questions, but I kept interrupting them by repeating: Where is my brother? What time is it? I want water, I want water…

The Albino, seeing that I just kept repeating the same thing, finally answered my questions: they had freed Sarova, and it was one o’clock in the morning. He even brought me a glass of water. When I had emptied it, the other man resumed the interrogation:

“Who are the hobbits you traveled with from Onkada to Estergat?”

This was, I think, the third time he had asked me the question. I could hardly hear him, however. I repeated to myself: one o’clock in the morning! And Adoya was surely waiting for me in the dead end of the Ojisaries, who knows with how many dogs…

“I want to talk to Frashluc,” I said firmly.

My words drew a frown from the man of Frashluc. I explained:

“I have a problem. And, if Frashluc helps me, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

After all, I didn’t really know much, and nothing about the open tunnels to the Underground could be as important as the safety of an entire family. Just the thought that at dawn Adoya could blow up the barber shop made me feel horrified and my breathing quicken.

“I’m being serious,” I insisted.

“Hmm,” the Albino mused. He walked over to the chair I was sitting in and leaned on the back, inquiring, “What kind of problem are you having exactly?”

I explained the story with Adoya and the Black Hawk, I told them in a low voice that they were going to kill my family, and finally the Albino asked:

“And how do you want Frashluc to fix the problem?”

I bit my lips nervously, I made a face like I did not know and was asking for help because of that, and the Albino pondered out loud:

“Eliminating them would be a solution. And no great loss to anyone. Are you okay with that solution?”

I looked into his eyes, became troubled, my heart quickened, and to my horror, I found myself nodding silently. Yes, yes… I was okay with it. The Albino smiled.

“Okay. You want the Black Hawk and the man with the dogs to get killed and your family to be safe. In exchange, you talk and agree to work exclusively for Frashluc. Think Korther has forgiven you a lot, but he’s not going to forgive you this. So it’s… your life for your family’s. Does that sound like a fair deal to you?”

I felt mesmerized by his albino red eyes. In my mind, I thought I heard Adoya’s voice again saying, ‘Your life is not worth the lives of a barber and his honest family.’ And, convinced of this, without further hesitation, I nodded.

17 Between betrayal and revenge

What I hadn’t thought of was that the plan to eliminate the Black Hawk and Adoya would be based partly on me. The idea was simple: I would enter the dead end, pretend to surrender, try to find out how many people were there, and then run away. My new allies would ambush my persecutors and fall upon them—if they pursued me—and then we would go in and kill the Black Hawk if he did not deign to come out.

Apparently the hunt had met with Frashluc’s approval. The Black Hawk was now nothing more than a troublesome wreck to him, and my proposal had even pleased him, according to the Albino. I could not, therefore, have found a better ally.

Six of us set off. The Albino and Swashbuckler went ahead, wrapped in their cloaks. I, accompanied by Diver, went forward in the middle, with the rodaria twig between my teeth. I felt no excitement, but I did feel a desire for revenge. The Black Hawk had exploited children, had mutated them, had condemned them to almost certain death. He was a devil, a murderer, and he deserved to die. And Adoya, for terrorizing Manras as a child, for threatening to kill my family, deserved it too.

Following the Albino’s advice, I kept repeating that to myself as we made our way through the dark alleys to the old Ojisary refuge. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning, and there were still almost three hours to go before dawn. The few Cats we passed on the way instinctively moved aside and were almost invisible in the shadows.

We reached the den, and the Albino stopped. Two of the henchmen moved away to the alley beyond the dead end. After a moment, the Albino whispered to me:

“Go ahead, Bard.”

Diver gently nudged me to encourage me. I breathed in deeply. Without weapons, without even a stone, I walked down the alley, stopped for a moment by the rock that was just around the corner, glanced down the dead end… And saw nothing.

I came out into the open and, swallowing my nerves, muttered:

“Come on, Mor-eldal. You’re the Survivor. Come on, Mor-eldal. Courage and bravery.”

I walked down the dead end to the door through which Sla and I had taken the Alchemist the previous summer. I was about to knock when suddenly two dogs came barking out of the back shack. Immediately the door opened. Not the alchemist’s, but the one that led to the collapsed mine. I ran for my life. But, of course, the Albino hadn’t thought about the fact that I couldn’t run as fast as a dog. Or maybe he didn’t think I would go so deep into the dead end. In any case, the dogs’ teeth quickly caught my calves. I fell, screamed, my mind blurred with panic, and suddenly I felt arms grab me. They pulled me in.

I landed on the stone floor in a room lit by a lantern. Adoya’s seven dogs were now all inside, and drooling with their fangs out, they surrounded me, but did not touch me. However, I hardly noticed. Whether it was due to the trauma or some inexplicable phenomenon, my mind was blank, with only harmonic images running through it. Now I was seeing a river. And someone was throwing me in, and… and I was drowning. I was drowning like Dil in his nightmare.

“You filthy rat,” a voice said. “You killed my son. The only son I loved. You miserable gwak. I will kill you all. All of you mutants. I will kill you all…”

I felt a hand grab my neck. Of course, that’s why I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t because of the river. It was the dark elf who was squeezing and squeezing…

My first instinct was to send him a mortic shock. I did so. But it was so weak that the dark elf was hardly stunned. So I said to myself: concentrate.

I concentrated, and instead of taking the morjas from my bones, I took it from the ferilompard bone hanging from a necklace, and oddly enough, I took it from Azlaria’s amulet as well. The energy was so dense that in a matter of seconds, I reached the greatest amount of morjas my body had ever had. On the verge of fainting, I raised my mortic hand, placed it on my attacker’s neck, and launched the discharge.

Such a release of energy left me half faint. The Black Hawk collapsed, but Adoya shouted right away, and the dogs set on me. And I, struggling to catch my breath, covered my face with my arms and screamed at the top of my lungs. So I hardly heard the other screams, and I even hardly noticed it when the dogs stopped biting me. A hand touched me. I threw out what was left of my mortic energy and caused someone to croak in surprise.

“What the…!” someone gasped. “The gwak cast a spell on me.”

“Sharpy!” another voice shouted.

It was a familiar one, and when Diver helped me to my feet and tried to pull my hands away from my face, I didn’t resist. I stopped screaming, and drowning in pain, looked at the scene blankly. Around me there had been a massacre. Adoya and his dogs were dead. So were two other people. And the Black Hawk…

“He’s still breathing,” the Albino informed, leaning close to the dark elf. He looked up at me with red eyes and winced, “I thought I’d let you have the honor of finishing him off, but… I have a feeling that won’t be possible. I’ll take care of it.”

“No, let me do it,” Diver interjected. His voice trembled. He repeated, “Let me do it.”

The Albino let him have the honour, and between the worlds of death and life, I saw my companion move away from me, take a dagger, and thrust it into the neck of the madman. Blood gushed forth. But instead of fainting, this time I did not react. I felt only tears running down my cheeks. Tears of horror. The Albino said:

“Found anything interesting, Swashbuckler? Well. Hurry up and pocket it, comrades. Let’s not hang around here.”

I must have looked really terrible because they did not even ask me if I could stand up. Swashbuckler lifted me up, and we sped out of there. The way back and what followed became intertwined in my mind. I kept repeating to myself: forget, forget, forget… The whole scene with the dead bodies, I wanted to forget it all! And the dogs. I wanted to forget the vindictive glint in Diver’s eyes when he had stabbed the dagger into the Black Hawk. And I wanted to forget the fear. And I wanted to forget that I was the one who had sentenced them to death. My family was safe, round… but I was more afraid than ever. The thing is, I didn’t want to join Frashluc’s gang. I didn’t want to associate with assassins. Even if they were assassins of assassins. I wanted them all, all of them, to forget me and leave me in peace.

And so, tormented as much by my thoughts as by the bites, I made no effort to get out of my mental shock. Actually, I made the opposite effort. I did not want to return to reality. Voices became mere meaningless sounds, images merged with those conjured by my mind… and it was better that way. From reality, only the touch of the arms that gripped me helped a little to comfort me, and, not caring whose arms they were, I clutched them tightly too.

Besides that source of consolation, there was a stranger one: from Azlaria’s pendant flowed a regenerative morjas that spread through my body, to the wounds. Was it real? I didn’t know. The thing is, at that moment, I thought with infinite relief: Elassar is with me.

* * *

For the next three days I did not loosen my lips to speak. I was left in the hands of old Fieronilles, who was something like the doctor of the band, and the old man told me old stories, he showed me another time the picture of his late wife on his pendant, and, well, he spent so much time nursing me and talking to me that, if in the old days at The Drawer I called him “Grandpa”, now, even though I did not call him at all, I thought so. He was a good man and, to my joy, he was the friend of old Bayl of the chocolates. Not a day went by without the blind man coming with some treat. In short, I felt as cuddly, comfortable and serene as could be. And not wanting to change anything, I refused to say a word and remained in a silence as deep as Little Wolf.

Several times, someone from Frashluc’s gang came to inquire about my health. That is, what bothered them most was my silence. I was supposed to answer their questions, after all. One of the men, thinking I was just making fun of them, tried to make me talk by force, but to no avail, and old Fieronilles and his dog got so angry that no one dared to touch me again.

On the fourth day, I began to feel better, though I had spent a night full of nightmares. I sat up in bed, and seeing old Fieronilles busy threading a needle, I looked at him for a moment and saw how his hand was shaking. I slipped out of the covers, went over to him, took his trembling hands, and helped him to thread the sewing thread through the eye.

“Ah, thank you, my boy,” old Fieronilles smiled. “My hands are not what they used to be. Tell me, have you ever sewn?” I shook my head. “Never? Well, sit back and watch. Learning to mend your own clothes is essential. Watch.”

I watched. After a few minutes, I wanted to try. The old man, of course, let me, and I took up his work with great concentration. And I finished mending my coat, which had been torn by the dogs. Then, seeing how dusty the little room where the old man lived was, I swept and removed the cobwebs from the ceiling, repaired a chair as Rux, Miroki Fal’s butler, had taught me to do, and polished his boots. Seeing me so busy, old Fieronilles was smiling.

“Looks like a house fairy got into my house,” he commented. “Come on, that’s enough, kid, or your wounds will reopen.”

Indeed, one of the deeper ones on my arm had reopened, and old Fieronilles gently chided me before reapplying his ointments.

“I can’t believe it, it’s already been three days since I’ve been to The Drawer,” Grandpa said. “Maybe I’ll take a walk there now. Do you want to come?”

I nodded, and we both walked slowly out of the house, followed by Chestnut, Grandpa’s dog. The people of The Drawer received us well, but I noticed that, as I was not making any noise, they soon stopped paying attention to me. It was funny to see how a mute could pass completely unnoticed.

I ate the leftovers Grandpa left me and spent a pleasant afternoon petting Chestnut, chewing smograss, and helping Sham clean the glasses. My help was rewarded with a generous snack. That led me to think that it was not true that my presence went unnoticed. The tavern keeper’s question confirmed it.

“So, Bard? Aren’t you ever going to sing to us again? That would be a shame, you know?”

The conversations died down immediately, and many of the people supported his words by saying, “Yeah, sing to us, sing to us again!”. I turned slowly, stunned, and looked at the faces of the Cats. The ruffians, the thieves, the merchants… all of them were great regulars at The Drawer. I knew them all. Some had given me a nail for some service or a certain song; others had fun teasing me just to hear my seasoned gwak replies; others, less sociable, would say, “buzz off, gwak” when I went to tell them fibs or was disturbing them. Sham insisted:

“Won’t you sing to us?”

I looked up at the tall dark elf and shook my head.

“No?”

I shook my head again. And, despite the general disappointment, I did not change my mind. The tavern keeper sighed and patted my cheek.

“Okay, kid. But then help me at the counter.”

I helped him. I felt I had to communicate to them somehow that if I didn’t sing, it wasn’t because I was angry with them, but because… I didn’t want to, period.

When Lotto the Tinker announced four o’clock in the afternoon, old Fieronilles, Chestnut, and I left the tavern and went for a walk down to the Timid River. I was taking Grandpa by the elbow, so that he could lean on me. When we reached the river that cascaded down to the river of Estergat, we sat on a rock and looked out over the views: Menshaldra, the bright waters of the river, the distant fields, the trees of the Crypt. Estergat was a huge city, but from the Rock we could see the wide domains it governed. On this day, one could even see the white houses of Azada, downstream.

Grandpa was silent. I took off my boots, wet my feet in the warm water of the Timid River, and then being careful not to prick myself on any sharp rocks, I went back to the old man and began to stroke Chestnut with the tip of my foot.

We were thus quiet when suddenly I heard a:

“Sharpy!”

I turned and saw my cronies running down the slope. They were followed by Rogan, who was carrying Little Wolf, and others of the band were approaching too, among them Syrdio and Swift.

I smiled broadly and went back to the path. I greeted my cronies with friendly pats, kissed Little Wolf, and smiled all the time. The Priest looked at me with a mixture of curiosity, relief, and embarrassment. He said:

“So, what Diver says is true… You don’t talk anymore.”

It almost sounded like a question. I gave him a smiling pout as if to reply, “it’s doesn’t matter”.

“Well, what a bummer,” Swift interjected, coming closer. “You who like to show off so much. You’re building up a reputation as a great gwak, namesake.”

I was troubled. Devils. So they knew. Of course they did. How could they not know? Adoya had come to me and threatened my family, and the next day, he was found dead, along with his dogs, the Black Hawk, and two associates. Plus, I’m sure Diver had told them what happened.

“He’s gone as dumb as Little Wolf,” Syrdio said with a mocking expression. “And that’s because you’re a coward, Sharpy. Sure you whined like a wolf when Diver popped him off. And your brain got so bland that that old fart has to fix you up, am I round?”

I looked at him, my eyes wide. He said in a row:

“Wimp-isturbag-fool-jerk.”

My indignation reached its peak, and I threw myself at him. And as he continued to hurl insults at me as we rolled over the dirt and rocks, I grunted:

“Isturbag, your mother!”

My companions, around, shouted “roll, roll!”, but then Syrdio pushed me aside and said:

“I won! Swift, my twenty nails!”

He stood up before my stunned eyes. We hadn’t finished the fight. I protested:

“Blasthell, what do you mean you won? I didn’t surrender.”

Syrdio laughed and gave me a push.

“No, isturbag. I won against Swift. He said: Twenty nails to the one who can awake Sharpy’s tongue,” he explained. “And I said to myself, ‘Damn, I’ll take the bet’. I’m a master at making Sharpy flip out, after all.”

“You had every chance of winning,” the kap muttered, amused, and he added, “I’ll give the twenty to you later. I don’t have twenty nails right now. Unless Sharpy already has those five goldies he promised.”

I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help but feel a little betrayed—they had pulled me from my sacred silence, blasthell—but at the same time… I was also glad they did.

“Well, right now I don’t have them, natural,” I said. “Can’t you see what state the dogs have got me in? They almost ate me alive. But, as soon as I can, I’ll find the money. By the way, have you seen Sarova?”

Rogan cleared his throat.

“No. He went straight to the barber. I found out because, the next day, Samfen came to ask about you.”

“Oh,” I muttered, surprised. I picked up my cap from the floor. “And what did you say to him?”

The Priest snorted.

“Well, that I had no idea where you were. Apparently, Sarova has been almost as mute as you. He didn’t tell them anything, and yet it seems that the barber gave him quite a dressing down. Oh, and also, I hear he’s forbidden them to set foot in the Cats ever again.”

“And I don’t think they will ever come back!” Swift laughed. “Seeing so many gwaks has frightened them. Well, I’m going back uphill, because the sun is sloping fast.”

In fact, night was already falling, and an orange light bathed the entire Cat Quarter. Facing Rogan’s questioning look, I said:

“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

I walked away, back to the rock and the old Fieronilles.

“Grandpa, Grandpa! Do you want me to walk you home?”

The old man smiled.

“Ah… well, I know the way, kid. I walk here almost every day. You can go with your friends. Just one thing… remember, when they come for you, you’ll have to go with them.”

I understood that with “them” he was not referring to my companions but to the men of Frashluc. My face darkened, but I nodded.

“Yes, Grandpa. I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

Old Fieronilles raised an index finger and said:

“Wait.”

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a necklace.

“I found it some time ago in a market, and it caught my eye. In Veliria, we call it a music necklace. I don’t know if it’s still worn, but I know that, in the old days, all the troupes of note had one. It’s for you, Bard. I know you like necklaces.”

Moved, I put the music necklace around my neck and examined it curiously—it was a simple leather cord with a pendant in the shape of a flute with several bamboos. I blew into one of the small pipes. A simple blowing sound came from it. It was clear that it was more a decorative pendant than an instrument. I smiled.

“Thanks, Grandpa.”

Old Fieronilles had risen from the rock. He shook his head gently, smiling.

“You’re welcome, Bard. Don’t forget your boots. And stop by to see me if your wounds reopen.”

“I will. Ayo!” I said.

As he walked away towards the heart of the Labyrinth, accompanied by Chestnut, I retrieved my boots, hurried up the hill, and caught up with my cronies, Rogan, and Little Wolf. Soon we were talking, and blah, blah, blah, the grandfather is so nice and, hey, have you seen my music necklace? I want one too! Lend it to me. I’m not lending it to you, you’ll break it. No, I won’t break it. Well then, but only for a second… And so we arrived at the refuge when it was already dark, and we sat down around the fire, and, surrounded by my companions, I sunk into a peaceful sleep, safe from nightmares.

I thought that those from Frashluc would wait until the next day to question me. I was mistaken. Diver came to wake me at an ungodly hour, shook me out of my peaceful sleep, and I muttered:

“Go blow yourself up.”

“Get up,” Diver insisted. “Frashluc wants to talk with you right now.”

The “right now” sounded urgent. I stretched against my will and grumbled:

“I’m sleepy.”

“Well, put up with it and get moving,” my comrade said.

I sighed, slipped out of the cover, trying not to disturb my cronies, and followed Diver out of the Bivouac. The sky was overcast, and I could not tell what time it was. In any case, it was still dark.

I was still so sleepy that I stumbled several times. I followed Diver through the alleys like a zombie. After a while, he put something in my hand.

“Swallow this, it’ll perk you up.”

Without thinking about it, I put it in my mouth, chewed it, swallowed it… and the taste suddenly reminded me of something.

“Good mother!” I exclaimed, incredulous. “It was passwhite! You made me swallow passwhite! I didn’t want to eat that!”

“I thought it would make it easier for you,” Diver replied. “That way you spill the beans and that’s it. Maybe you won’t even remember it. Come on, don’t get mad.”

I was mad, but I soon stopped being so, for the effects of the passwhite were not long in coming. As I began to zigzag, Diver took me by the arm. He took me into The Yellow Dragon, the inn in the Grey Square, and left me in the hands of a man whom I probably knew, but did not recognize in my condition.

“He took it by himself?” the man asked, surprised.

“I told him to swallow it, and he did,” Diver replied.

“For real? Ah, how beautiful friendship is,” the man scoffed, and dragging me towards the stairs, he added, “You come too.”

“Me, sir?” Diver gasped.

We climbed the stairs. At the top, I burst out laughing, I don’t know why. The man huffed.

“Well, looks like it had a strong effect on him,” he observed.

“Sokwatas are more affected than normal people, that’s why,” Diver explained. “The remedy didn’t change that.”

The man pouted.

“Mmph. I hope it’s not going to be a problem. Let’s go.”

We went through a tunnel that seemed familiar, and then through other unknown tunnels and stairs. We passed a few people, I don’t know how many. At last, we came to a comfortable, well-lit room with a large carpet, a small hot water fountain, a large armchair, and a small table in the corner. Standing by the armchair was Frashluc, the fat old man, looking as nail-pinched as ever. As soon as the sajit who had been holding me by the shoulder let go, I began to wander about the room, rambling and humming.

“Uh… Did you get the wrong dose?” Frashluc asked.

I stopped near the spring and looked at the bottom. It was dark. I dipped my left hand and began to sing:

The water’s so limpid,
so bright. If I drink it,
I see myself drinking
the sky and the air!
Hoyoyoyoy!

“Good mother, this house is damn pretty!” I exclaimed, laughing.

And it really was. Or at least it was warm, and at that moment, I really liked it. Someone took me gently by the shoulder, and I turned to see the face of old Frashluc. I smiled.

“Ayo, Grandpa, how are you.”

I heard a muffled laugh. It was Diver. Frashluc cleared his throat.

“Come here and sit down.”

I sat where he said, on the carpet, and he went and sat opposite me in the armchair. His eyes looked at me.

“I held up my end of the bargain. Now you hold up yours, boy. Talk. You want to talk, don’t you?”

I blinked. Did I want to talk?

“Yes, Grandpa. I want to talk. I have a lot to say.”

Frashluc smiled.

“Good. Then talk.”

It wasn’t so easy to get me to talk, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what to say: they had to ask me specific questions. I answered them all. And so they found out the identity of the hobbits, even though they probably already had an idea about it, they found out about the tunnel that would connect Yadibia to Estergat, and they also found out that I didn’t know much else. That generated a certain exasperation. There were people in the room. Maybe… four, five people? In addition to Diver and me.

“Tell me, boy,” Frashluc resumed. “You say that this journey you made up to the valley was to go to your master. Who is this master?”

“My master!” I said excitedly. Just the thought of him made me smile widely, and I fidgeted on the carpet. “My master. I missed him so much. I was so troubled with the barber, the comrades, my brother… that I thought: I’m going home. And I did. And I gave him the bones.”

“What bones?”

“The bones,” I smiled. “Ferilompard bones!” I burst out laughing, and when I calmed down, I added, “The bones. Elassar told me they were a marvel. He was pleased. Because I brought them to him.”

As I recalled it, I was overwhelmed by joy. Frashluc’s eyes twinkled as if my words had particularly affected him.

“He’s delirious,” one of those present snorted.

Frashluc nodded calmly.

“Totally. Tell me, boy. One more question: do you think Korther knows you’re here?”

That was not an easy question. I gave him a confused look. They had to rephrase it, and so I answered:

“I haven’t talked to my cousin since Sacredday. He said he was gonna introduce me to his girlfriend. But I didn’t go. Yet he invited me to a free dinner and everything. But I was so scared…”

“Scared?” Frashluc repeated.

I nodded, my throat tight.

“Because of Adoya. And the Black Hawk. I was very scared.”

Frashluc nodded, and to my surprise, he reached out a hand and took mine.

“What about now, boy? Are you scared now?”

I blinked, smiled, and shook my head.

“No! Now I’m fine.”

Frashluc’s fatherly hand soothed me and comforted me even more.

“One more question, boy. Are you listening?”

My gaze had wandered, but I returned to the old man’s eyes. Frashluc asked:

“Why do you think Korther didn’t help you save your family and why did I?”

Another complicated question. He rephrased:

“Korther didn’t help you, did he?”

I shook my head, growing more somber. The dose of passwhite must have been lower than the first time I had taken it because I was already beginning to feel its depressive effects.

“He didn’t help me,” I muttered.

“And why is that?”

“Because he’s busy,” I replied.

“Mm, or maybe… because he doesn’t care what happens to a gwak?” Frashluc suggested.

His words pierced me like daggers. I lowered my head in confusion and nodded. Then Frashluc said:

“But, you are no mere gwak. You are a skilled thief, Draen. You can be useful to me. Tell me, Draen, do you want to be useful to good Grandpa?”

For a moment, I recovered my good humor and exclaimed:

“Ragingly!”

“Good,” Frashluc smiled. “Because you do know that, while the Black Hawk could scare you very much, so can Grandpa, and even more so. But that won’t be necessary, will it? You just have to remember who is able to help you when you have a problem and who isn’t.”

He stood up, pulled me by the hand to get up too, and continued:

“The only thing I want you to do, Draen, is this: keep being a Black Dagger. You’re going to spy on Korther. You’re going to find me the entrance to that tunnel. You only have to find it. You have three days. You think you can do it?”

My mind cleared at times, and understanding what he was proposing, or rather ordering me to do, I stammered:

“Yes, sir.”

Frashluc was satisfied.

“Remember who is in charge here,” he added. He lifted my chin, and his eyes locked on mine as he whispered, “Obey me and you will have no reason to fear me.” He uncovered a bite wound on my arm and added in a harsher voice, “Betray me and your body and those of your family will end up in tatters.”

Faced with his implacable eyes, I began to tremble like a leaf. I could not show more clearly that I had ragingly understood his words. Then Frashluc sat up and said:

“Take him away and set him free.”

When I came out of that room, I found it less pleasant than when I had entered. Much less pleasant. And as I stood under the night sky and the cold air cleared my mind a little, I thought: blasthell, what has just happened? What have I said? What have I done? My confused mind still did not let me think clearly, and I felt even more anxious about it.

“Sharpy,” a voice suddenly whispered to me.

I had barely started walking in the Grey Square. Diver caught up with me. I saw him open his mouth, but I didn’t let him say anything: I punched him in the stomach.

“That’s because you drugged me, you bastard!” I spat at him. “You tricked me. We’re comrades. You bastard. You bastard. You bastard…”

Diver was slow to catch his breath. I strode away. Now I was walking more or less straight. More or less. I had reached the other end of the square when I heard Diver’s panting behind me:

“Sharpy. Sharpy, I’m sorry.”

His voice sounded so miserable, so painful, that I stopped and turned around. My companion was… I opened my eyes in disbelief. He was crying. Diver, crying!

“Forgive me, Sharpy,” he resumed. “I… I was just following orders. And I thought that way they wouldn’t have to beat you up to make you talk if you were being stubborn.”

“Yeah,” I hissed, sharply. “You follow orders, and comrades come after. Well, great. As the other guy said, how beautiful friendship is.”

“Sharpy!” Diver insisted desperately. “You don’t understand. If I don’t do what they tell me, they’ll chase me out of the Cats and sell me to the flies. And, if I run away or spill, they pop me off. Frashluc is a devil.”

I gritted my teeth. I wanted to tell him that they were doing the same to me and that, to top it all, they were threatening to kill my family. But I just said:

“Besides, if you leg it, you’d stop getting karuja. Huh?”

My voice was charged with venom and accusation rather than compassion. Diver remained as if petrified. I added in a bitter tone:

“A true comrade doesn’t leave his gang for such slugboneries. And you left, Diver. Don’t say you didn’t. You left because of karuja. You sold yourself for a damn plant. Come back with us, blasthell. And if Frashluc pops you off, I’ll pop him off. I give you my word as a gwak. Come,” I insisted.

I waited a few seconds. He said nothing and did not move. Then I let out an expletive, turned my back on him, and left.

I had betrayed the Black Daggers, and I had come to accept it. I was going to betray them even more, and that, more or less, I had accepted it. But what I couldn’t accept was that Diver could be such an isturbag. I really liked him, and it was reciprocated, and yet…! Definitely, being a comrade didn’t mean that you couldn’t be a complete idiot.

I looked up at the dark, cloudy sky, scanned the dark alley with a still troubled gaze, and whispered:

“Spirits, if you’re really around, protect Diver. Protect him well and help him, because he needs it.”

And, when you are at it, help me too, I added mentally. With a sigh, I took the direction of the Bivouac. Once I arrived and settled back in between my companions, I fell asleep immediately and slept like a lebrine bear. This was the only good thing about the effects of the passwhite: it kept me from thinking too much about my infamous betrayal.

18 A tunnel toward the Underground

For the next day, I kept thinking about the mission I had been given. I went to the Capitol, but this time there was a guard at the front door, and he stopped me and said, “You cannot pass”. His tone was so inflexible that I did not dare to break the rules, I backed away and left. I went to my cousin’s house at noon, but he wasn’t home, so I spent the afternoon selling newspapers and returned at six. It was no use: Yal still hadn’t returned. And as I did not know where the new Hostel was, and as it was not an hour when I could go to see Korther, I went and sat with Little Wolf on a low wall from where I could watch the house with the green shutters, and I waited.

The day was spring-like, and the Esplanade was alive with activity. I took out the rodaria root, and while chewing on it, I looked down at my boots. Adoya’s dogs had left them in a terrible state. I had tried to retie the sole, but my attempt had been useless. Worse: I had discovered bloodstains. And suddenly wondering whether it was mine or the Black Hawk’s, I had wanted to throw the boots to hell. However, I remembered at the last moment that they had cost me three goldies, and I held back.

I waited in vain until seven o’clock. Manras and Dil came to see me twice, and a few comrades and acquaintances passed by, but when the sky began to darken, the gwaks of my band gradually withdrew. Little Wolf was active: he had made friends with a little girl of his age, the daughter of a bun seller who was working nearby. I had whispered to him: nab one, nab one. But the blond boy was so young that he didn’t understand me, and instead of going to the buns, he went to the little girl. She had shown him her rag doll, he had shown her the Master, and now they were both playing very diligently.

And as they played, I became more and more nervous. Because… if I couldn’t find a Black Dagger in those three days, what would happen? Let’s just say that I only had two days left.

A lamplighter started to turn on the lights, the bun seller left with her daughter, and as Little Wolf followed them, I snorted and went to stop him.

“Halt there, Little Wolf. She’s the little girl’s mother, not yours.”

The blond boy looked up with a frown, and I sighed.

“The bun maker doesn’t want you, gwak. That’s because you’re a gwak. You get it? Come on,” I encouraged him.

And I led him back to the low wall. I had not yet sat down when I saw Manras and Dil running up to me, and I arched my eyebrows. But hadn’t those two already gone back to the Bivouac?

“Sharpy!” Manras gasped.

“What’s the matter, shyurs!” I replied, puzzled.

They approached, and finally Manras explained:

“It’s the Black Cat. We bumped into him on the Avenue. He wants you to go to The Crazy Nut asap.”

This made me jump with excitement.

“Good mother! Really? The Black Cat? That’s great!” I snorted cheerfully. “I’m going!”

And I ran off leaving my friends with Little Wolf. I was looking for the Black Daggers, and it just so happened that Yerris wanted to talk to me!

The Crazy Nut Inn was halfway between The Ballerinas and Moon Square, on the border with the Cats. It was also called the Artists’ House, because people with studies and lots of ideas met there. I rarely went in that place, but I did remember picking the pockets of some drunken student leaving the building.

I arrived, pushed open the door, and went in. I came panting and glancing murderously at my boots, for they had tripped me up a dozen times on the way. The place was bustling with activity, with a guy up on a chair making a speech about traditions or something, and he went: no, gentlemen! Goodbye standards, goodbye rules: art must be free!

His assertion was cheered, and in the meantime, I turned around twice and… smiled broadly as I spotted the Black Cat sitting at a table with… Sla!

The red-haired dark elf had a hand resting on her huge belly. I rushed towards them and said with emotion:

“I’m so glad to see you guys!”

Slaryn smiled.

“Ayo, shyur.”

“Sit down,” Yerris invited me. “Before we get started, let me buy you a drink. Wine?”

I nodded. He took the bottle from the table, and I went to ask for a glass. Yerris placed my chair between him and Sla, who even let me hear how the little one was kicking inside.

“From one storm, there can only come another storm,” Yerris joked.

I ducked in time as Sla gave the half-gnome a good whack.

“Storm, your mother,” the dark elf replied. “It would be nice enough if he wasn’t born as hotheaded as his father. Did you know, Draen, that this scaluftard broke his left leg?”

“Bruised,” Yerris corrected. “That’s what the doctor said. And, that’s precisely why,” he continued, lowering his voice, “Korther needs another volunteer in the tunnel. It’s very easy, don’t worry. You just have to go into a hole, leave the magaras along, and come out. Apparently you don’t have the option of saying ‘no’, so, I’ll show you the way as soon as you finish your drink and as soon as the princess allows me to.”

Slaryn rolled his eyes.

“Permission granted.”

Yerris bowed theatrically, and I laughed as they continued to bicker as usual. Still, when I finished the wine and the Black Cat gave me the nails to go pay, I observed out of the corner of my eye that they were looking at each other like two lovebirds.

To my amazement, we did not leave The Crazy Nut, but went through the back door of the establishment. The tavern-keeper said nothing to us, and I deduced that he must be a friend of the Black Daggers… if not a real Black Dagger. Thunders. To think I had picked the pockets of several of his customers…

Yerris discovered a trap door, and he and I descended to the cellar, where the Black Cat revealed a secret passage in the wall.

“From there, just go down and down. You will find Ab. He’ll guide you. The guy’s having fun as a kid down there with the explosives. Don’t forget to remind him where you are so he doesn’t blow you up,” he joked. He pointed to two bags. “Take them with you and give them to Ab. They’re supplies, not explosives,” he reassured me. And as I took the bags, he leaned on his crutch, looked at me curiously, and added, “By the way. I’ve just been told that the Black Hawk is dead. Did you know?”

I stiffened a little, but nodded casually.

“Yes. I knew.”

“A great recruit to the underworld,” Yerris smiled. And he yawned. “Apparently, the men of Frashluc killed him. For once, they’ve done something useful!” As I merely shrugged, he pointed to the secret passage with his chin. “You’d better go there. Korther wants to finish this in two days. You’ve got a good distance to walk,” he warned me. “Good luck.”

With some trepidation, I took the lantern he held out to me and entered the tunnel. Before the Black Cat closed the opening, I blurted out:

“Yerris.”

“Mm?”

I hesitated. I didn’t know what to say to him. I wished he would say to me: don’t worry, shyur, we already know what Frashluc asked you to do, Korther is not angry: he will help you. Blasthell, how I’d have loved to hear something like that! However… I sighed, discouraged. I could always dream on.

So, putting aside my worries, I gave him a bantering smile and said:

“You’ll let me know when the baby’s born, right? I wanna see it.”

The black semi-gnome smiled with all his teeth.

“Sure thing, shyur.”

Smiling, I turned my back on him and started down the stairs, lantern in hand. The secret door closed behind me.

At first, the stairs were more or less regular, then they became less and less visible and turned into a simple slope. I came to a crossroads and stopped. There was a path going up and another going down. Yerris had told me to go down, but… what if the upward path led me back to the surface? Then I could run to The Yellow Dragon and tell Frashluc: I know where the tunnel entrance is!

With this thought, I took the path that climbed. After a while, however, I came to a dead end. Was this another secret door? Perhaps, but no matter how hard I tried to find a mechanism to open it, I could not find anything. It was almost a relief. With my heart in my throat, I took the path down.

I descended for what seemed an interminable time. At times, I felt waves of hot air that reminded me frighteningly of the Salbronix mine. I don’t know how long I had been descending when suddenly one of my boots got stuck and my toes hit a rock. I almost sprawled forward. I grumbled, pondered, and decided that enough was enough: I put down the lantern and the bags, took off my boots, and left those in a corner, wishing never to see them again.

“Good riddance, traitors,” I said.

And I resumed my walk. The ceiling of the tunnel lowered and rose at times, but I never had to bend over. Being small must have some advantage.

I was beginning to wonder if this tunnel had an end when I heard voices. I continued to descend in silence, and gradually, I began to catch some words. It was Aberyl.

“Power… power of a hundred… no, two hundred and thirty… No, that’s not it. Bah, bah, bah… I’m getting confused! Focus, Ab…”

After listening to him for a while, I realized he was talking to himself. Tightening my lips into an irrepressible smile, I approached the tunnel and eventually saw a bright light bathing the whole place. Sitting on a rock, a notebook in his lap, the demon was talking to himself. He had taken off the muffler he always wore, revealing his pale face, and… his marks. He was transformed. He looked up abruptly with his red demon eyes and seemed relieved to see me.

“Hell, boy. You don’t make a sound. So they finally found you. Come on, there’s work to do. Leave those bags there. And take this one.”

I obeyed without a word, too intimidated by his marks to say even “ayo” to him. And as we started walking, descending further into the tunnel, Aberyl continued to glance steadily at his notebook while mumbling to himself. He asked me no questions. There was no “So, how was the valley?” or “You wouldn’t happen to have a big problem with the biggest kap of the Cats, would you?” No, nothing of the sort. Because, as Frashluc had said, they didn’t give a damn about what could happen to a miserable gwak. Well, I just added “miserable”, because I was offended by such disinterest. And so, with a clenched jaw and a hardened heart, I followed Aberyl, loading the heavy bag full of explosive magaras.

We came to a place where the tunnel became a simple hole through which we had to crawl. And there, Aberyl said to me:

“Put the bag down. Carefully, boy! Let’s see, let’s see.”

His eyes were shining with excitement. He took the magaras out of the bag, and when I tried to help him, he clicked his tongue.

“You stay put, boy. Don’t mess up my magaras. I’m trying to think…”

I let him think for a while, and then, tired of waiting, I said:

“Have you managed to think already?”

Aberyl frowned and raised an index finger to silence me as he placed the magaras and attached them one by one to some wires. After a moment, he touched each magara again and smiled, breathing in.

“Good.” He looked up at me and pointed to a spot. “Do you know what this is?”

I looked from the rock to the Black Dagger several times before saying:

“Rock?”

“Lionrock,” Aberyl announced as if he were presenting me with a precious stone. “It’s an underground rock that renews the air. We must be about six hundred meters down. And… right there, according to the plans, forty meters away at most, there is a tunnel. A tunnel that leads to the Underground. We’re gonna need another one of those pipe bombs. See the hole the other one made? Those bombs are the best. The Artificer sells them at a crazy price, but… hell, they’re incomparable. Well!” He covered his face with the muffler and gestured. “Onward. Take the first magara and keep moving forward, dragging the others inside until I yell at you to stop. Then you step back and place the magaras, one on the ceiling, one on the floor, one on the ceiling, one on the floor, and so on, so that the wire is always taut. Got it?”

I nodded, swallowing, and did as he asked: I took the magara he held out to me, flattened myself by the hole, stuck my head in, and… said:

“Don’t blow it up when I’m inside, huh?”

I heard Aberyl’s snort.

“Don’t talk nonsense and go. If anything happens to you in there, turn your harmonic light red.”

I widened my eyes in alarm.

“Red light? I don’t know how to make red light!”

“Well, well, the little necromancer doesn’t know how to make red light? I find that hard to believe. Go,” Aberyl repeated, growing impatient. “It’ll be fine.”

“Blasthell,” I replied tersely.

Through clenched teeth, I began to crawl into the hole, dragging the explosives. I wondered what would happen if I popped off there. Frashluc wouldn’t bother killing my family, would he? Except maybe he would, who knows. He might think I’d run away. As a matter of fact, who would ever think I’d popped off in a hole six hundred meters below the Rock?

Driven by fear, I did my best not to lose my concentration for a second. When Aberyl shouted “stop!” I began to back away, placing one magara on top, another on the ground, and so on until finally I emerged from the hole, my knees and elbows bloody and my hands shaking. My arm wound had reopened.

“Can I go now?” I asked.

Aberyl cast me an incredulous glance.

“Go away? But we’ve only just started!”

I breathed in. And I braced myself.

Finally, I understood what Aberyl meant by “we’ve only just started”. After blowing up the small hole, Aberyl asked me to do the same thing again. I entered the hole three times. The tunnel was getting wider, and during the breaks, I had to take out stones, clean up, and in the process, half asphyxiate myself with the dust cloud.

In the end, I was worn out, and when the tunnel was high enough and wide enough for Aberyl to enter, I lay down on the floor all the way. I was aching all over and my head was throbbing with fatigue. I could barely move to get the wineskin, drank all that was left, and then, bloody and dusty and exhausted, I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

Aberyl shook me.

“Hey. Hey, boy. Get up, we’re going back upstairs.”

I resisted and told him: no… He insisted. Without thinking about it, I gave him a slight mortic shock so he would leave me alone. And he did. At last. Dead to reality, I returned to the world of dreams.

I woke up to a crash. At first, I thought that Aberyl had resumed blowing up the earth without me. But no matter how hard I looked, I could not find him. He had left me a lantern, and it was still burning. I rose to my feet, numb, sweaty, and scared. The crashing did not stop. The earth vibrated. Was the tunnel going to collapse on me?

I picked up the lantern and was about to run away when suddenly there was a deafening BRANG! and rocks began to fall. I leapt aside to avoid one, the lantern smashed into another, and I found myself cowering against a wall in the dark.

Oh, blasthell, blasthell, blasthell! I let out a cry of terror. I shielded my head as much as I could and closed my eyes tightly. Then the earth stopped shaking, and in place of the clatter came a loud, resounding, snapping sound, a bit like Dakis’s breathing, but way more powerful. I opened one eye… and thought I had gone mad.

In front of me, more or less at the point where we had broken through the rock, there was a large gap downwards. And in that gap there was light. And in that light, I could see the huge nostrils of a… of a…

Of a dragon.

It had earthy-coloured, golden scales, and its breath was hot and reeking of minerals to the point of asphyxiation. Anyway, I hardly dared to breathe. I was petrified.

Glittering insects flitted around the dragon’s scales, but it didn’t seem to mind. After sniffing through the hole for a few moments, it took a large rock between its jaws and crunched. Bang! Pieces of rock shattered and fled in all directions.

I had to move. The problem was that I was half buried under the rocks. None of them were actually crushing me: they had fallen at an angle, leaving me just enough space not to turn into a spirit. But I was going to need time to get out of there… and maybe need some help too.

I had a coughing fit and tried to stifle it. The dragon, however, did not seem to hear me. It continued to chew, and suddenly, it struck its head against a wall. The earth shook violently again, and a rock almost fell on my head and blocked my view.

After a time which seemed interminable, the earth stopped shaking. I tried to climb out from under the rubble, to no avail. I was trapped, and I was afraid that, if I tried to move a rock, it would crush me. I wanted to scream, I wanted to ask for help, but I didn’t know if the dragon could hear me. So after a few frustrated attempts to free myself, I remained huddled in my grave. Now I was pricking up my ears and could not hear anything. It was as if the dragon had been but a dream. However, at the time, it had seemed so real…

An eternity passed before I heard noise again. I woke up—well, not really, because it was impossible to sleep in these conditions—and I heard something like a shower of stones. Then an explosion. Horror overcame me. They weren’t going to activate magaras without knowing where I was, were they? But what did they care, I thought painfully.

There was another series of explosions before I could finally hear voices, then a:

“Merciful spirits, I can’t believe it!”

“What?” the other replied.

“The tunnel. It’s open. But… an earthquake can’t have done this, can it?”

The first one to speak was Aberyl. The second was Korther. The kap answered with a muffled gasp and said:

“That lad had us all in a tizzy until his last breath. I wouldn’t be surprised if he collapsed the tunnel by himself.”

“Kor, let’s not joke about these things,” Ab protested.

“True, he was clever enough not to make it collapse with him in it,” Korther admitted. “Gosh, it’s so silly. Poor boy… Anyway. What are you doing?”

“Looking for his body.”

“Spirits. Under all those rocks? He could be anywhere.”

Then, though my throat was completely dry and I was only half-conscious, I managed to make a sound, a mere strangled moan.

19 I keep bumping into monsters

“Did you hear that?” Aberyl cried out.

I heard clumsy footsteps in the rubble, and Korther croaked:

“Spirits and demons, that can’t be.”

“Do you perceive it too?” Aberyl asked.

“I’m not sure,” Korther replied.

Using my weakened energies, I cast a light spell. I botched it, I think, but Aberyl exclaimed:

“There!”

The rocks rolled away, something released my right arm, and I saw light through my eyelids. I opened them and saw the blurred faces of Korther and Aberyl.

“He’s alive,” Aberyl rejoiced. “Help me, Kor. Don’t be a dawdler.”

“Hold on a moment,” Korther stopped him. “I have just one question for him. Mor-eldal. Can you hear me? I hope so, because I need an answer. I heard that you ended up in Frashluc’s hands once again. Did you tell him about the tunnel? Just say yes or no.”

I did not hesitate: I spoke the truth. And I whispered a:

“Yes.”

“Devils,” Korther swore. “Give me one reason to get you out of here alive, lad.”

I was unable to give him any. I had a headache, I was thirsty, I was dying, blasthell. I was not able to think logically.

“Stop with your nonsense, Kor,” Aberyl hissed.

“No,” Korther replied. “This is serious. I’m not going to get him out of there if he doesn’t give me a reason to do it. Just one, lad. It can’t be that hard. Think about it.”

I loosened my lips, breathed in, and stammered at last:

“Live. Water.”

“Yeah,” Korther huffed in exasperation. “I meant a reason for me to forgive you for your total lack of loyalty.”

“Damn it, he gave you a reason: now lend me a hand,” Aberyl rapped out. “Surely you don’t want him to die because of you.”

They freed me, not without difficulty, and had to carry me, for I could not stand. They laid me against a rock, and Aberyl gave me water. He said:

“You’re luckier than a thousand demons, boy. And, damn it, it looks like the tunnel has opened all the way down. Now we’ll have to put up some black steel grates to keep the unwanted beasts at bay… Did you say something, kid?”

I nodded and stammered:

“Dragon.”

“Dragon?” Aberyl repeated, puzzled.

I blinked and said again:

“Dragon.”

Then Korther cursed.

“An earth dragon! But of course. Yabir says that many of the tunnels in the depths are dug by earth dragons. I never thought they could come this high… Now that I think about it, it could be a big problem,” he added meditatively.

“You mean the tunnel we’re making probably won’t last more than a couple of days,” Aberyl grumbled in disappointment.

“Well,” Korther sighed. “I’ll ask Yabir. Surely there are ways to scare the earth dragons away. For now, let’s go back up. You never know, it might come back.”

The mere prospect of facing the dragon again gave me strength to get up. I tried to ignore the pain and staggered forward to what seemed to be the way back. I heard a clearing of the throat behind me.

“I think I’d better carry you, boy,” Aberyl interjected. “At least a little way. On one condition,” he added, stopping beside me. “That you promise never to throw me a mortic shock ever again. If you do, goodbye friendship.”

I looked at him, staggering. Friendship? What friendship could there be between us when I had just said that I had betrayed them?

I nodded, however, and as Aberyl hoisted me onto his back and I clung to him, I suddenly felt the urgency to justify myself:

“He threatened to kill my family. The barber’s family.”

Korther passed by and seemed to ignore me. However, after a while, he said:

“It’s easy to threaten. But think about it, kid, Frashluc will never take that many risks. Killing some gwaks friends of yours would be a waste of time, and killing a barber and his family in Tarmil… an unnecessary risk. Most likely, it would be him killing you, and that’s it.”

I frowned. His words sounded false to me. I knew full well that Frashluc was capable of killing anyone he wanted. And just the doubt—which was almost a certainty for me then—that I could condemn my family if I didn’t do as he asked made me a puppet in his hands. It was shameful, but I could not avoid it. And it hurt me that Korther wanted to make the horrible mess I was in seem unimportant.

After a silence interrupted by the puffing and blowing of the two demons, I asked:

“What day is it?”

“Mmph. Fifth Youngday,” Aberyl panted. “You’ve been down here for a day and a half.”

I swallowed. So the three days had not yet passed. I could still go to Frashluc.

The climb was endless. After a while, Aberyl put me down, and I had to walk. The water had cleared my mind, but I was still sore. I could barely move my right arm and I was limping with one leg. All because of that damned earth dragon.

Korther and Aberyl had been talking about the dragons earlier, but they had been silent for a while now, huffing and puffing regularly because it was a thousand demons hot down there. Not as hot as in the Salbronix mine, but close.

We came to the crossroads, and instead of going in the direction of The Crazy Nut, we took the other one, the one from which I had failed to get out. As we moved away from the crossroads, I saw a figure sitting in the shadows, and I supposed it must be a Black Dagger standing guard.

At one point, Korther quickened his pace, and I tried not to fall behind, especially because I wanted to see how he opened the secret passage… I could not figure out the mechanism: as soon as Korther arrived, the rock turned, and the way opened. When I reached it, with Ab’s help, we emerged into a subterranean room full of… books.

“Good mother,” I blurted out, amazed.

The door closed, and where there had been a large hole, there was now a shelf with very old-looking volumes. If I had not been exhausted, I would have asked what this place was, but in my condition, I simply let myself be drawn in. We went up through a trap door, and they had to help me up. And bingo: another strange room. There, guarded by two Black Daggers sitting quietly at a table, were a bunch of locked cabinets. I almost asked what was inside, but I held back, thinking that the less I knew, the less I could tell Frashluc.

We were walking down a corridor when Korther suddenly opened a barred gate with a large key and said:

“Come on in, kid. I’ll call Rolg. He knows a little about medicine.”

When I glanced inside, I stiffened. It was a simple room with a straw mattress and a trunk. It reminded me of a prison cell. I shook my head.

“I’m all right, sir. As long as you let me come back with my friends…”

Korther clicked his tongue, and his devilish eyes flashed.

“Tell me, lad. What probability is there that on the way you will visit Frashluc?”

I froze in my tracks. My reaction spoke for me. Korther sighed loudly.

“That’s why, lad, you’re going to stay here for a few days, until I decide what to do with you. Get inside.”

My mind began to work frantically. A few days! I couldn’t stay a few days. I had to get out at once or Frashluc would carry out his threat. I shook my head vigorously.

“No, sir, please…”

Korther’s eyes flashed with disbelief.

“Yeah, sure, please let me betray you all,” he taunted. He gestured authoritatively toward the cell. “Get in.”

I looked him in the eye and, to show my disagreement, backed away. Aberyl was right behind me. I began to build up mortic energy in my hand and raised it… The problem was that my arm was half asleep, and Aberyl caught me by the elbow before I could reach him. I would have still be able to throw the shock without using my mortic hand, but through my skin the power was greatly reduced. Ab shook me, hissing:

“No, you won’t, you damn devil. Do it, and I’ll cut your hand off.”

I looked at him in despair, but his face did not soften. He pushed me in, and as soon as he had let go, he jumped back just in case, and the gate closed. I saw Korther turn the key quickly in the lock and then step back.

“Don’t try to get out of here, lad. You won’t make it. And, if you do make it and leave, I’ll kill your whole family.” He rolled his eyes. “You see, I, too, can make threats. Come on, cheer up. You’re alive. And we saved your life. Show some gratitude. I will send Rolg to you.”

They walked away down the hallway and I stood behind the bars with the urge to throw myself against them until they or I broke.

As soon as I heard the door to the corridor close, I went to the lock and examined it with a perceptive spell. It was not one of those locks that could be easily forced, let alone without a picklock. I took inventory of my possessions: torn and blood-stained pants, a tattered shirt, a nakrus amulet, a musical necklace… That’s right. I remembered putting a nail in one of the pipes of the little flute. Was it still there? I looked and pulled it out, triumphant. If the walls had been built of bricks, escape would have been easier, but they were hard rock. And since I was in an underground cell, there were no windows.

Okay. I opened the trunk. Inside was a blanket and a rough cloth shirt, in good condition, adult size, but who cared: I would nab that one as soon as I found a way out of there. I heard a door open and stiffened. Damn. Boots clacked and came closer, and in the light of the torch in the hallway, I saw a muffled Black Dagger pass. He glanced at me, but he did not stop, and I soon stopped hearing his footsteps.

I had been sitting quietly on the bench. I got up and was back by the bars when suddenly I saw a figure in the hallway. He was not much taller than I, and he wore a cloak which mimicked the surroundings strangely well. He was walking forward with hesitation, and when he saw movement from my cell, he stopped short. We stared at each other for several strange seconds in silence. Who was this child? What was he doing there? Spying, perhaps? Strangely enough, for some reason, it occurred to me that the figure I had seen at the underground crossing was, in fact… him.

We were startled by the sound of boots, and I felt the boy’s sudden fear. He stirred, and then he rushed to my gate and, as if by magic, opened it, slipped inside, and turned his back to me, maybe to lock the gate again. I stretched my neck in amazement.

“How did you do it? Do you have the key?” I whispered.

The boy did not answer, and merely moved to one side so that no one passing in the corridor could see him. He looked at me with such intensity that I thought it best to whisper to him:

“Don’t worry, I don’t snitch.”

He said nothing, so I walked over to the gate and made a face as I recognized Rolg. I stepped aside and opened the trunk.

“Get in there,” I hissed at the boy. “The one coming is here to fix me up. You hear me? He’s gonna see you if you stay there.”

The footsteps kept coming closer, and the boy still did not move. In the end, at the last moment, he decided to listen to me, and I closed the lid just in time. Rolg stopped for a moment at the gate.

The old elf wore the same dark green cloak as always, so similar to that of my nakrus master that I had trusted him from the first day I met him. I’d had a good scare last spring when I’d seen him transformed into a demon, but contrary to what I’d feared, our relationship hadn’t suffered any great change… except that I’d barely seen him since, between the mine, the prison, and the spirits knew how many other messes.

“Hello, boy,” he said to me after a silence.

I smiled nervously and tried not to look at the trunk.

“Ayo, Rolg.”

The old elf took out a key and opened the gate. So the boy in the trunk really had locked it. But how?

“I’m glad to see you again, boy,” Rolg said, closing behind him. “Sit down and take off those rags. Do you hurt anywhere?”

I huffed. Was he kidding? I was hurting all over! I pondered for a moment and finally nodded:

“The arm. It’s still bleeding a little.”

“Sit down,” Rolg repeated.

He came with a bag, and took out a small bowl, and filled it with water, and as I obeyed and took off my clothes, the old elf lit a lantern which he carried, and sat down on the bench to examine me. I knew that he did not know much about medicine, he had told me so himself. But he helped me to clean the wounds, and bandaged the dog bite on my right arm, for it still looked ugly, and when I told him of the blow on the head, he laughed incredulously.

“Next time it’ll be a devil that’s pushed you down a ravine,” he joked. “If I were superstitious, I’d believe an evil spirit had possessed you, son. Anyway. I brought you a little bottle of radrasia to make all your ills go away. I know Yal wouldn’t like it, so it’s just between the two of us, huh? I’ll get you something to eat.”

He patted me on the shoulder, smiling, and stood up; I did the same.

“Rolg,” I said.

If it hadn’t been for the boy in the trunk, I would have liked the old elf to stay a little longer… but now that I had some small hope of getting out of there, impatience was eating away at me, and instead of asking him, “Are you leaving already?”, I just said:

“Thank you.”

The old elf looked at me, his face serious.

“You know, kid? Just now, I was remembering the day I found you, at the fountain in Gray Square, with a bone between your teeth.” He smiled, “That day I thought, ‘there’s something special about this little one, he’ll make a great Black Dagger ’. On the first point, I was not mistaken. On the second… you still have a long way to go.”

Under his gaze that was waiting for an answer, I nodded nervously, and as he opened the gate and locked it, I breathed in and said with some fervor:

“We all have something special. My mates, anyway. They’re all great gwaks. And they’re not Black Daggers. And they’re doing fine. They don’t have to crawl into a tunnel and pop off under rocks. They don’t have to go into a palace to steal things. They don’t have to work for anyone. They’re free.”

I fell silent, and Rolg, perhaps surprised by my outburst, remained silent for a few moments before the bars. Then he sighed.

“Obviously I was wrong,” he said at last. “I’m sorry, kid. I shouldn’t have taken you in that day.”

And with these words he left, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I understood that I had hurt him, but I did not understand why. My words had been the pure truth.

But maybe his were true too.

No, I said to myself. I was wrong. Because if it hadn’t been for Rolg, I wouldn’t have known Yal, and the mere thought of this possibility made me shudder… I heard a little knock and jumped. The trunk! I went to open it, and the boy came out. I whispered to him hopefully:

“Can you open the gate again like you did before? Can you help me out?”

The boy was dark-haired, with very pale skin and blue eyes almost as light as Yerris’. The collar of his cloak was turned up, so I could not see the bottom of his face. He made a strange detour, as if to get away from me, and, fearing that he would leave without me, I blocked his way.

“Hey, you’re not leaving without me, friend. Say something to me. Are you dumb? My name is Draen. What’s yours?”

I could hear his sigh, and finally he croaked something through his teeth. I did not understand a word.

“Good mother, don’t you speak Drionsan? It can’t be. Where do you…?”

I fell silent. Yes, where did that boy come from? If he was fleeing from the Black Daggers, and could not speak Drionsan, and was covered with dirt… Stunned, I blurted out stammering:

“N-no way. You’re from below? From the Underground? But… was the dragon chasing you or what?” I paused and said in Caeldric, “Do you understand me now?”

The boy had his head down, looking thoughtful, but as I switched to Caeldric, he raised it suddenly and his eyes sparkled.

“You can speak the language of the land?” he said.

His voice was shrill and hoarse. It gave me the creeps.

“Yes, I can,” I confirmed, glad he understood me. “I was saying, are you from the Underground?”

I saw him nod cautiously, as if he was not quite sure he understood me. He asked:

“Do you know a way out of this territory?”

I frowned.

“A way out of…? Well, no. Actually, I came in here from the tunnel, too. But I can help you. If you can open that gate like you did before. You can do it, right?”

The boy gave a wheezy sigh and replied:

“I can. But I don’t need help.”

I flared my nostrils in annoyance.

“But I do,” I replied. “I’ve been locked in here, and I don’t have a damn tool. Help me out, and I’ll help you. Nobody speaks Caeldric out there. I speak it because I had a master who taught me. Besides, it’s not true that you don’t need me. Didn’t I just help you by putting you in the trunk, huh?”

Ha, I got him there. The boy from the Underground looked me in the eye with such a stare that I wondered: doesn’t he need to blink or what?

“All right,” he said at last. “My name is Arik.”

I smiled and replied pompously, clutching my cap:

“Draen the Sharpy Survivor, at your service. Shall we go?”

“Wait,” Arik said. “Before, we have to trade a very important item. That’s how we make real deals. I’ll lend you this. It belonged to my mother.”

He handed me a round black stone with white spots. Shocked and embarrassed, I asked:

“A very important item?”

Arik nodded with extreme seriousness. I swallowed. The only important item I had was Azlaria’s necklace. But I also had the music necklace, and Arik didn’t have to know that it wasn’t that important to me… Acting like the good, seasoned gwak that I was, I pressed my lips together, looked hesitant, and finally took off the music necklace, saying:

“My master gave it to me before he left. Don’t lose it, eh?”

Arik’s blue eyes smiled.

“By no means.”

By no means, I repeated to myself. He spoke like an adult. We exchanged objects, and Arik pulled something out of his cloak. A metal wand. He inserted it into the lock of the gate, and it opened. I gasped.

“How the hell…?”

Arik motioned for me to follow him, but before I went out, I muttered a:

“Wait.”

And I went to get the shirt from the trunk. I went out into the hallway as I put it on and followed my new companion. I still couldn’t believe that this boy was from the Underground. Unfortunately, this was not the best time to ask questions, and I focused on not getting caught by any Black Dagger. When we reached the end of the hallway, we climbed some long stairs and came upon a massive door. I pressed my ear against it and felt the energetic vibration of an alarm in the lock. I reached out with my right hand with effort, and in a few moments, I disabled the alarm. Then I whispered to Arik:

“Can you open it?”

The boy tried with his metal stick, and I saw him concentrate. A magara, I understood. He must activate the wand, which was somehow able to blow the bolt off… Any thief would dream of having such an item!

We pushed open the door and found a sort of large storeroom. There were people on the other side of the room. Surrounding myself with harmonic shadows, I entered, let Arik pass, and closed the door, stylishly reactivating the alarm. Ha, what did Rolg say again, about me not being able to become a great Black Dagger?

We squeezed through the crates and all sorts of paraphernalia and then stayed still until the two talking Black Daggers pushed something into the wall. To my amazement, the wall pivoted and a way out opened up. Another exit. Blasthell, there were secret passages everywhere…

The wall closed again, and we were left in darkness. I could make no harmonic light. We groped around, came to the magic wall, and I whispered:

“Do you have any idea how…?”

I fell silent when I heard a clatter and the wall turned. A hand grabbed me and pulled me into a well-lit hallway. Voices could be heard at one end of the corridor. We went to the other side. We entered a room, and I sighed with relief when I saw that it was empty. I limped over to a window and peeked in. Bingo! We were on the ground floor. I put my hand on the handle and went to look for some alarm when I heard the voices coming closer in the hallway. Blasthell. With frantic movements, I turned the window handle, opened it seemingly without activating anything deadly, and, already straddling the edge, turned to Arik… and frowned. The subterranean boy looked as if he were frozen to the spot.

“Arik!” I hissed.

I heard laughter in the hallway. They were coming! I bent down, grabbed Arik, and pulled him towards the window. At last, he reacted a little, and we got out. However, no sooner had we turned the corner than Arik let out a muffled croak, and I became worried.

“Arik? Are you okay?”

He did not answer, but as we were still very close to the Black Daggers’ nest, I decided that the most urgent thing was to get away.

It didn’t take me long to get my bearings: we were on the border between the Cats and Tarmil. Not far from the barber shop. I didn’t let go of Arik, and knowing that if the Black Daggers tried to pursue me, it would be in the direction of the Cats, I headed for Tarmil Avenue. From the position of the sun, the afternoon had just begun, and I still had hours to go to The Yellow Dragon. On the Avenue, with all the people there, I’d be quite inconspicuous in my adult shirt that reached to the knee: I was a gwak, period. The problem was that the Black Daggers would be precisely looking for a gwak.

After several glances at Arik’s cloak and boots, abruptly changing my mind, I led him into a dead end and said:

“Let’s change our clothes. For an hour. Just for an hour. I need it,” I insisted.

And as Arik said nothing and looked wide-eyed at the sky, I reached out a hand to borrow the cloak. I pulled down his muffler… and froze, flabbergasted. Under his muffler, I saw… My heart began to beat rapidly. As if I had given him a mortic shock, the boy snapped out of his daze and gave me a murderous look before closing his mouth and covering his face up quickly.

I gasped. I had seen two fangs. Humans did not have fangs. As far as I knew, no sajit had fangs. That could only mean that…

That Arik was a vampire.

Suddenly the boy threw himself upon me and pressed me against the wall with surprising force. In his shrill voice, he hissed:

“You can’t betray me: we made a deal.”

I looked at him, horrified, and stammered:

“I-I won’t betray you. Ever. I swear.”

Inwardly, I thought: I’ve just run away from the Black Daggers with a vampire from the Underground! No more, no less. Damn, I might as well have run off with the earth dragon, it would have been quicker. Why? I moaned. Why did all the weird things always have to happen to me? It must have been that evil spirit that Rolg didn’t believe in but I was beginning to believe in more and more firmly. In a drowned whisper, I repeated:

“I swear. I won’t tell.”

20 Are you afraid of monsters?

A vampire, a vampire, a vampire, I repeated frantically.

“You could have told me we were going to the Surface,” Arik sighed.

The vampire had insisted that we not move from the dead end until I explained to him where the hell he had landed. So I explained to him what Estergat was—he’d never heard of the town—and told him that vampires were considered monsters here. He just gave me a mocking look. Now he looked absorbed again.

I shook my head.

“Is it true you’ve never seen the sky before?”

“Never.”

“And why are you alone? I mean… why aren’t you… with your people?”

Arik huffed, glanced at me, and after a hesitation, explained:

“I haven’t had a tribe for years. My clan was slaughtered by the sajits. I was put in a cage and sold to a prince of Tamisabra. I escaped by stealing what I could. And I’ve been running from my pursuers for days.” I marveled at his story. He growled, “That prince will not stop until he finds me. But this time it will be different. This time he won’t find me.”

I bit my lip, troubled. We sat behind a stone staircase in the dead end and watched people go by on the other street. In the distance, we could hear music. Was it coming from a tavern with the door open? It sounded very festive. Then I understood. Fifth Youngday of Mud Moon, Aberyl had said. The spring festivities were approaching, and some were rehearsing for the parade. That’s why there was more commotion than usual in the streets.

I rubbed my cheek and thought, Damn, I forgot Rolg’s bottle of radrasia. A pity, because it would have felt great at the moment. I sighed. As I assimilated the idea of being accompanied by a vampire, I started worrying about other things again. My family. Frashluc. Taking a sharp breath, I broke the silence and said:

“Your story is amazing. I’ll tell you what, let’s be friends. I’ll take you to a safe place and you lend me the cape. I’ll give you back the stone and I’ll lend you the shirt so no one can see your face. And, you, you give me the necklace back when I give you the cloak back. Does it work for ya?” I asked my question in Drionsan.

The vampire gave me a curious look.

“My cloak is just an elven cloak. It’s not as valuable as the stone.”

I pouted.

“But I need the cloak so I won’t be recognized; on the other hand, you can find stones everywhere. Take it,” I insisted.

I wanted to give him the black stone, but Arik stood up abruptly.

“No,” he replied. “A deal is a deal. And I’m not giving you the cape.”

I sighed and shrugged. So be it. I kept the stone, pulled the cap over my head, and got to my feet.

“Follow me,” I said.

I came out of the dead end, and after a few moments, Arik followed me. He asked:

“Why did they lock you up?”

I could hear a hint of curiosity in his voice. I grabbed him by the sleeve to get him out of the way of a cart and explained:

“Because I deserved it. These guys are confreres of mine.”

I said no more, and Arik asked no more questions: his eyes were too busy scanning the surroundings. He was more tense than a beaten gwak. When we reached Tarmil Avenue, we mingled with the crowd. Some had got ahead and had already had their faces painted and were wearing extravagant hats. In the spring, Estergat became more colorful than ever. I explained to Arik what all the fuss was about, but I don’t know if he listened at all. At one point, I saw him stagger, and I grabbed him by the arm.

“What’s wrong with you, shyur?” I said in Drionsan, worried.

The tone was enough for Arik to understand my question. He answered in a weak, shrill voice:

“I’m thirsty.”

“Oh!” I pointed to Tarmil Square, a little further up. “There’s a fountain there. Come on.”

Arik let out a short, high-pitched laugh.

“A fountain of blood?”

I stopped dead in my tracks with a shudder. Oh. Gosh. Blood. But of course. Curiosity mingled with my apprehension.

“Do you pop off if you don’t drink?” I asked. Seeing the look of incomprehension on the vampire’s face, I realized that I had spoken in Drionsan. I translated, “I mean, will you die if you don’t drink?”

Arik huffed. He seemed to have regained some of his strength because he was no longer losing his balance.

“I haven’t had a drink in a week. Last time, it was a sireloke… I was left wanting more. If I go on like this without quenching my thirst, I start not being able to move. Then little by little, my body becomes still. And I die.”

I looked at him, fascinated.

“Okay. And… and… so does the blood of those ‘sirelokes’ work too? Don’t you only drink sajit blood?”

Arik let out a hiss and a word that I did not understand.

“No,” he said. “In the past… yes, I used to drink sajit blood. But it is wrong. I know it’s wrong. That’s why my family died. The last time I drank sajit blood was when I was ten years old. That time… I threw myself at one of my owners. He didn’t hate me. So I did not kill him, and he spared me. But I tasted his blood. It was delicious.” At his eyes, I understood that he was grinning. “But I prefer anobe blood.”

I had no idea what an anobe was, so I say:

“We don’t have those around here, but there’s a lot of rats. Do you like rats?”

Arik shrugged.

“It’s better than nothing,” he assured. “Where can I find some?”

I sighed, grabbed him by the sleeve, and dragged him between the passers-by. We were coming out of the Avenue again, heading straight for the Cats, when the vampire asked me:

“Can I ask you one thing? Why don’t you have blood in your right hand?”

I froze at the question for a few seconds. I was tempted to reply, “What’s it to you?”. But he had confided in me, and though he would not lend me his cloak, I was kind and said:

“Because it doesn’t need it.”

We entered the Cat Quarter, following a group of masked youths. We left them near The Blue Flame and entered the Labyrinth. I knew of several rat-infested places, and we soon came to one of them: the dead end of the Cave where my cronies and I had hidden from the Ojisaries the previous summer. Manras had called it the Reeking Alley. It was full of rats. I pointed to them with a vague gesture: you could see them even in daylight.

“Help yourself, shyur,” I said in Drionsan.

The vampire understood me and didn’t hesitate: he approached the rats. I saw him hesitate a little, as if he didn’t know which one to choose. Then, quicker than I thought, he rushed over, grabbed one, and sank his fangs into its neck.

I looked around, worried, but there was no one there. Relieved, I approached, still limping a little, and crouched down beside him without a word. I waited. Arik finally left the rat and took another. And I could not have been more surprised when I saw that, after a moment, the first rat was stirring again. I was startled.

“It’s not dead!”

The vampire frowned.

“I’m not going to kill them.”

I looked at him, barely suppressing a smile. Damn, what a vampire. He may even turn out to be more delicate than any of the Estergat Cats, who had no problem whatsoever throwing rat poison all over the place! Not to mention the army of furry cats that prowled around the houses. Yet the subterranean vampire was being lenient. Well, I’ll be damned.

After seeing him satiate himself for a while, I said:

“Well. I’ve got some stuff to do. If you want, you can stay here, in that cave at the end of the alley, and I’ll come get you when I can. But right now I have to go.”

“That’s not the deal,” the vampire protested. His cheeks were all flushed with blood. “What if there are sajits coming this way?”

“They won’t come,” I assured. “And if someone comes to throw something, they won’t even look at you. But that’s why I was telling you: you should dress in my clothes and I in yours. That way, they’ll think you’re a ‘gwak’, you know, like me, a… I don’t know, you know what I mean. And, this way, the Black Daggers wouldn’t recognize me. There are only advantages.”

We looked into each other’s eyes. I snorted, looked up at the sky, and rose to my feet.

“I’m going.”

“Hold on,” the vampire let out. “All right. Let’s change our clothes.”

I smiled. And he smiled back at me, with his fangs clearly visible. We went into the cave and exchanged clothes. I left him with my huge shirt, and he left me with his elven cloak and elegant boots. A corner of my mind said: now I’ll leg it and ayo, goodbye, vampire. But something in Arik’s look and demeanor prevented me from seriously considering that option. I don’t know, it was… this childish confidence he was showing me, as if he couldn’t imagine that a deal could be broken as quickly as it was being made and that not only truths came out from the mouth of a gwak, far from it.

So it was almost with the fear of betraying his confidence that I said to him:

“I said I’d come back tonight, but actually I can’t promise you that. You know, it’s a bit of a mess right now. But I’ll do my best to come back, believe me.”

The vampire nodded, looking at me with questioning eyes. He looked strange in those rags and so pale he was almost translucent. After another hesitation, I cleared my throat.

“Ayo.”

And I walked away. I didn’t tell him that I had left his mother’s stone in his trouser pocket. I mean, who knows where it would end up if he left it with me. In hell, for sure.

I left the Cave wondering how the hell Arik must feel now, in a city with a sky above and surrounded by sajits. Maybe I should have led him to the Crypt. Or with my companions. The mere thought brought a smile to my face, and I could already see myself saying, ayo, comrades, I bring you a newcomer, he’s a vampire, but he’s a good gwak!

I laughed under my breath and huffed:

“Good mother.”

I tried to move forward without a limp, climbed stairs and alleys, took shortcuts, and finally arrived at the Grey Square. Concealed behind my new elven cloak, I scanned the place. It was a sunny day, and the square was bustling. My gaze fell on the distant sign of The Yellow Dragon. I started walking.

The closer I got to the inn, the slower I got and the more I felt like I was doing something wrong. Very wrong. But, at the same time, why did Korther not want anyone to know where the tunnel was? Out of greed, because he wanted to be the only one to trade with the Underground cities. Well, it was better if it was him than Frashluc, but it was still ridiculous that such a dangerous tunnel was unknown to anyone but the Black Daggers.

I was arriving at the door of the inn. I changed my course and instead of stopping, I continued on down the street. My heart was beating chaotically. I started to run uphill—limping—towards Atuerzo. I passed Frashluc’s house and continued running towards the Elms School. It was time for the students to leave, and I hoped to find Lowen. I ran into him at the end of the street, just as he was saying goodbye to Zenira. When I saw Korther’s daughter, I stopped and backed up several steps. I had nowhere to hide, so I just stood behind a tree on the sidewalk, pulled my hood tightly over my face, and pretended to be contemplating something ragingly interesting in the palm of my hand.

What exactly had I had in mind when I went to the Elms? More or less, it was to ask Lowen to act as a messenger so that I wouldn’t have to talk directly with these criminals. The problem was that I hadn’t thought about Zenira when I came there. Then a small gang walked by on the street. Some of them looked at me strangely, and to my utter surprise, a dark elf suddenly exclaimed in amazement:

“He’s the midget’s brother!”

And that was Marg, Samfen’s harasser. Things happened like an avalanche. I ran, but with my limp, I could hardly get anywhere. They surrounded me and cornered me. I closed my eyes briefly, tired. That was all I needed.

“Stand aside,” I said.

Marg showed me a small box—a defensive magara of the kind that threw discharges, similar to the ones the flies wore. He smiled.

“Pull out your knife now, copper. Have you come to save your brother? Too late, I’m afraid, we’ve already left him shivering in the dead end.”

“Where did you get that cloak from?” one questioned, grabbing it. “Did you steal it?”

“Surely it wasn’t his father who bought it for him!” another one scoffed.

They continued their mockery, and incredibly, I could think of nothing to say. I had spent many hours under rocks, I had walked and climbed for hours without eating anything, and I had hardly rested. I was too exhausted to have any sort of lively reaction. The only thing I did was to walk towards someone and wait for them to move aside. They didn’t, natural, and jostled, I kept coming back to the center of the circle. Marg put away his magara and said:

“So? You, too, want to be an architect? Or maybe a street rat?”

Several laughed. It was funny to see that, when it came to making fun of someone, any ill-conceived mockery was enough to elicit stupid laughter.

“That’s enough!” a voice cried out. “You are all older than he is. You are a bunch of cowards.”

I couldn’t see who was talking, but Marg whistled in amusement.

“Well, well. Princess. Don’t get mad, that half-gwak is the one who threatened me with his knife when I was unarmed. We’re just putting him in his place.”

“Half-gwak?” I repeated indignantly, finally breaking my silence. “I am gwak one hundred per cent, isturbag. Get outta here.”

He gave me a slap, and I was about to throw myself at him, but several grabbed me and stopped me.

“You see, princess? This guy’s from the slums. He shouldn’t be hanging around the school. He’s dangerous.”

I finally managed to see Zenira’s face and Lowen’s face. The half elf had a frown on her face.

“I said, enough! You’re the ones who look like scum surrounding him like this. Leave him alone.”

Marg rolled his eyes, and grabbing me by the collar of the cloak, he dragged me out of the circle saying:

“You’re lucky the princess is protecting you. What do you say? Thank you. You say thank you, miss.”

I repeated with a listless sigh:

“Thank you, miss.”

“Well. If I see you around here again, I’ll tell the police it was you who pulled the knife. There are witnesses here. You hear me? Get out of here.”

I gave Marg a murderous look, wondering if his threat had any value, and limped away. I didn’t dare glance at Lowen and Zenira. I headed down the street. I felt too humiliated to want to tell Lowen anything. With annoyance, I heard footsteps running up behind me, and the two young nail-pinchers caught up with me.

“Draen!” Lowen whispered, overexcited. “Where did you get that cloak from? Did you steal it from the Harp?”

I glanced at him wearily, and after a silence, I said:

“No.”

My curt reply did not discourage him. He continued:

“Do you know that I learned from Zenira that it was you who stole the Solance? My father didn’t tell me!”

I muttered through my teeth and growled:

“Will you shut up, isturbag? Unless you want to send me to the hole. In that case, I’ll just sing until my voice gives out, you know? I’m sick of it.”

Oh, I was sick of it, yes! I was more than sick of it. Of Frashluc, of Korther, of the flies, and of fear. This fear that froze my insides, now I hated it, I pushed it away, I sent it chasing the clouds. I was sick of it!

I burst out:

“Stop following me, you damn nail-pinchers, go to hell!”

Both remained stunned, though Lowen more than Zenira: the latter recovered quickly from the surprise, and, with her hands on her hips, she blocked my way with indignation:

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

I didn’t bat an eyelid, but inwardly I thought, You have blundered with the shyurine, Mor-eldal. Her question probably did not require an answer, still I answered in a muffled voice:

“Nobody. I’m nobody. I am dead.”

And going around her, I walked away, not running like a squirrel but limping like the lame gwak that I was. This time they left me alone.

I walked along the wider streets, so that the Black Daggers would not catch me, and passed through the Esplanade. There I saw Swift sitting with his cap and his crippled leg. I greeted him, saying:

“What a rotten day.”

And I sat down next to him. The kap looked at me curiously.

“Why is that?” he inquired at last.

I told him what had happened, not worrying about hiding anything about the tunnel. To hell with secrets. I even told him that I had met a new companion who was a complete orphan and asked him if he wanted to meet him.

“Ah, well, natural, namesake,” Swift smiled. “If you think he’s a Wise One, we’ll adopt him as a Wise One.”

“Yeah, well, meeting him is one thing, but taking him in the gang is a bit…” I cleared my throat. “He’s a bit of a special guy. Say, are you afraid of the undead?”

Swift looked at me with a troubled expression.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“What about dragons?” I inquired. “The monsters of darkness. Ghosts. Do they scare you?”

My namesake snorted.

“Are you kidding me, shyur? You mean to tell me the new companion is an undead, invisible dragon?”

I laughed heartily.

“No. But, if you knew an undead, invisible dragon that was friendly, would you accept him?”

Swift continued to stare at me, bewildered.

“Damn, Sharpy. I don’t know. Who is this friend of yours? A harpy?”

“A vampire.”

It just slipped out. And, seeing Swift’s reaction, I understood that he needed more explanation:

“He only drinks rat blood, and he doesn’t even kill them, can you believe it! He’s a pacifist like the hellhound of the chroniclers. He’s… I don’t know, twelve, thirteen, whatever. And he’s more lost than a puppy in a cacmire.”

“Quagmire,” Swift corrected thoughtfully.

“This,” I agreed. “He says some sajits popped off his family, and an underground prince locked him up in a cage like a beast. Arik legged it, and now the nail-pincher is looking for him. A real mess!” I snorted. I paused, staring at the kap hopefully. “So, does it run? Can he stay?”

Swift looked at me in disbelief and then laughed.

“But how do you do it, Sharpy? You get into all the messes in the world. Take a bit of an example from me, get yourself a cripple’s leg, sit down, and meditate properly as the Spirits intended.”

I sighed.

“Ah, for that, don’t worry, I’m already limping. Now, I’ll do half as many slugboneries as before, because I go half as fast. So? What do you say? Eh?”

Swift shook his head, half amused, half annoyed.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I’m not prejudiced. But if I don’t like him, I’ll kick him out and you won’t complain.”

I smiled broadly.

“Well, natural, you’re the kap. He’ll be so happy! I don’t think he had many comrades down there,” I said.

Swift gave me a friendly push.

“Come on, gwak, go away and leave me alone to beg.”

“Okay, okay,” I agreed, rising to my feet. I pointed at him with a theatrical hand. “You’re a great kap, Swift. The best of the three I have.”

“Suck-up,” the red-haired elf scoffed.

“And the ugliest!” I added, laughing.

I avoided the tripping he tried to do to me and this time moved away in the direction of the Labyrinth. Swift shouted at me:

“Bring the monster to the Bivouac tonight!”

I raised a hand to say that I had heard and continued to walk away. I arrived at the Reeking Alley just as it was getting dark. I was almost surprised that I had come all this way without running into any Black Daggers, or Frashluc’s men, or any of the Cats who wanted to get their hands on my pretty cloak. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes I was lucky.

“Arik?” I called.

I dug my boots into the filth and walked down the narrow dead end to the Cave. It smelled even more deadly than usual, and it was hard to breathe. There was no sound. I frowned, fearing that he had left.

“Arik?” I repeated.

The cave was deserted. Oh, devils. He wasn’t gone, was he?

Then, in a corner near the Cave, I saw a form which made a growl. I tensed.

“Is that you, Arik?” I asked in Caeldric.

It was him. The vampire looked up. Though I had no idea what was happening to him, I dared to crouch down beside him and grab him by the sleeve.

“Are you okay?”

I saw him pass a white hand over his mouth, smearing himself with blood. Blasthell, he was even dirtier than Little Wolf. At last, he answered in a hesitant voice:

“I’ve had too much to drink.”

I blinked. Gosh. The vampire had all the symptoms of being drunk. I helped him to his feet, and he stammered:

“Why… did you leave me the stone?”

“The stone? Oh my, I wasn’t paying attention!” I lied. And, after accepting the black stone from his mother again, I made sure he covered his face before leading him out of the Reeking Alley. We were already reaching the Bivouac when he stretched a little and asked:

“Where are we going?”

“To see my comrades,” I replied, cheerfully. “That way you’ll have a good place to sleep. The Cave is only for emergencies.”

The vampire stopped short.

“Com-rades? What’s that?”

I had used the word in Drionsan. I explained:

“Friends. Family. I live up there, in those rocks, with them. Come on. You’ll see, you’ll like them. You were invited by the ‘kap’, no more, no less. I mean, the boss.”

Arik looked at me, dumbfounded.

“Invited? But… they’re sajits. I can’t go.”

I huffed.

“What the hell, but of course you can. I’m a sajit, too, you know. Come on, they won’t eat you. Just don’t show your fangs and it’ll be okay. It’s not that hard.”

And I pulled him without further talk, because I was tired of talking and walking, and in my head, I kept repeating to myself: I want to snooze, I want to snooze.

When we arrived at the refuge, almost all the companions were already there. I said, “Ayo, ayo”. I introduced Arik to them. Curious, Swift tried to communicate with him by gestures, and after I told Rogan and my cronies my miseries with a casualness due to exhaustion, I then listened to Manras tell a far-fetched story and said to him, “Damn, you have one hell of an imagination, gwak, tomorrow you’ll tell me another one”. Then I followed it up with a: “I’m dead”. And so, embracing a Little Wolf who was already deeply asleep, I prepared to do the same. The problem was that I was voraciously hungry, so, before closing my eyes, I said, “does anyone have anything to eat?”. They gave me some rodaria. And I fell asleep with the twig between my teeth, while the vampire, and Swift continued to communicate in the shadows. They couldn’t say much to each other since they didn’t share the same language, but they seemed to get along well. Whatever people said about us, we gwaks were more open and less superstitious than many, and although we were profoundly ignorant about some things, we were knowledgeable about many others.

My last thought, before I drifted off to sleep, was for my blood brothers. They didn’t deserve to be harmed because of me. But my deep concern was obliterated by fatigue. I only wanted to sleep. To sleep with my companions. And then, if I had to die for my family, I would do it at dawn. At dawn.

At dawn, at dawn, at dawn,
the bird’s singing in joy,
the flowers blossom and yawn,
and on the earth blazes
the white light of dawn.
At dawn, at dawn, at dawn!

21 I became a convicted traitor

With a delicious loaf of bread between my teeth, I was sitting on the grass with Rogan, my cronies, and Little Wolf, and was giving each of them a necklace, both deeply solemn and joyful, when suddenly I was awakened, shaken by the shoulders.

“Sharpy!” a voice whispered in my ear.

More asleep than awake, I recognized Diver’s voice. Without even opening my eyes, I stammered sleepily:

“What’s up?”

Diver huffed.

“Are you for real? Have you forgotten Frashluc?”

Immediately, discouragement and bitterness came over me, and I wanted to return to my necklaces and my delicious bread… Another push and a pinch. I gave a grunt and grabbed Diver by the arm.

“The Crazy Nut,” I croaked, in a bad mood. “That’s where the tunnel starts. That’s all I know.”

I crossed my arms and buried my face in them again. I heard a sigh from Diver. Then I heard nothing more: I was back in the world of dreams. Only this time I dreamed that I was in a tunnel with two great dragon eyes at the bottom, and the rocks were falling and falling and crushing me… And I was dying, but not all at once, it was a slow agony with fear in my guts… a terrible fear! I woke up drenched in sweat, trembling and with a racing heart.

As soon as I calmed down, I wondered if Diver had really come to see me that night or if I had dreamed it. Not being able to tell left me confused. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d dreamed I’d woken up and gone to sleep without waking up for real. Finally, I shrugged and looked at Little Wolf who was playing next to me, nibbling on Master’s skull. It was a sign that he was hungry. I ruffled his hair.

“Ayo, ayo, Little Wolf. Are you hungry?” The blond boy nodded energetically. “Well, let’s do something about it.”

It had been daylight for hours, but Manras and Dil were still asleep. I got up, and only then did I realize that the cloak was gone, and the boots were no longer where I had left them. I turned and looked for Arik, but could not find him. In fact, more than half of my companions had already left. I fiddled with Arik’s black stone in my pocket, sighed, and after a quick examination of my wounds, I roused my cronies from their slumber by singing a: Larilan, larilon, hey, Spring, come out now, bombumbim… They awoke and the four of us left the Bivouac. We reached the street which bordered the rocky area when I saw the Priest trotting up the hill, hiding something under his coat.

“Good thing you’re here!” he greeted us with a big smile. “I bought you guys breakfast. Yesterday I harvested well, and since you were hungry, Sharpy, my ancestors told me: be generous and give to the hungry soul. Here, here: it’s good, rye bread.”

I couldn’t help but let out an exclamation of joy when I saw the loaf of bread. My mouth was already full and my eyes half closed with pleasure when I said:

“Good mother, thank you, Priest. I owe you one.”

“Blasthell. I owe you more than one for what you did at the hospital,” he replied.

I rolled my eyes. The Priest would never forget what I had done for him in the hospital. The five of us left no crumb, and after wandering the area a bit, we headed for the Tarmil Quarter. I was barely limping now.

After such breakfast and because there was a festive atmosphere in the town, we naturally gave free rein to our whims. I had already betrayed Korther, I no longer had to fear Frashluc, and therefore my conscience was almost completely clear. So we strolled down Tarmil Avenue from shop to shop and fountain to fountain, met Swift and the vampire on the Esplanade, and the kap informed us that in the morning he had sold the elven cloak—apparently with Arik’s consent. He had made a good sum of money from it, with which he had bought appropriate clothing for the newcomer, including a muffler. He did not tell us where the rest of the money had gone.

We made the most of the day. We begged a little, but only a little: we spent the rest of the time walking through the crowded streets, buying a can of paint from a vendor, and painting our faces and even our arms. We also drew two black circles around Arik’s eyes. At first, he didn’t want to, but nothing is more convincing than a troop of gwaks determined to see all their comrades, especially the new ones, do the same. As with everything: insist and conquer. Besides, the vampire was a quick learner, and by the time the parade rolled around, he was already able to say: blasthell, great, it’s ragingly good and ayo, comrades! Among other things. At first, he looked shy and serious, but gradually he loosened up, and by afternoon, he was up for all our gwakeries: he snatched a flower necklace hanging on a door, splashed people near a fountain, pulled the tails of the parade horses… The only thing he didn’t do was spit on the boots of the nail-pinchers because he said that his spit attracted attention because of the smell. In the end, vampire or not, he was a kid like the rest of us.

I yawned. There were about ten of us sitting on the grass of the Evening Park. The afternoon was drawing to a close, the air was cool, and yet the place was crowded with walkers. We had drawn lots to see who would have to beg for a ball like the one those children playing a little further on had, and it had fallen on Manras, so the little dark elf was now turning around, holding out his hand to passers-by. For the moment, he wasn’t having much success. When a group of people passed by him, basically jostling him out of the way, I laughed.

“You’re letting the customers slip away, demorjed! At this rate, we’ll have the ball in the summer!”

I said it in a cheerful tone, but Manras gave me a nervous pout and looked distressed at the nail-pinchers. I rolled my eyes and said:

“Bah, forget it already and come back!”

Anyway, it was clear that we were not going to get the ball before nightfall even if we joined all our savings.

As the sky darkened, I saw the owner of the ball say goodbye to his friends and walk away with his family. I glanced at Manras’ scowling face and gave him a mocking push.

“Forget about the ball. That’s all nail-pincher stuff. We got better stuff!”

I placed the rodaria twig between my teeth and lay down on the grass. The Gem was already shining in the sky, and we could see the stars.

“Better stuff?” Manras questioned. “What better stuff?”

Damba, Venoms, and Lin had already gone back to the Bivouac, and now it was just Rogan, my cronies, Arik, Syrdio, Little Wolf, and me. I raised my hand and pointed to the dark sky with a broad gesture.

“This. Freedom. Nobody tells us when to stop playing.”

There was a silence during which the voices of passers-by were heard. Then Dil said:

“Nobody tells the dead either.”

We snorted and laughed.

“Round,” I admitted. “But they’re spirits, it’s not the same.”

Syrdio intervened, mockingly:

“You don’t think those nail-pincher’s kids would want to take your place, do you, Sharpy?”

I pouted and twisted my mouth a few times.

“Bah. Well, no,” I admitted. “They’re lucky. But that doesn’t make us be less than them, does it?”

Rogan cleared his throat.

“He who compares himself to his neighbor will have only eternal sorrow,” he quoted.

I shrugged and sighed.

“Bah. What do I know. Anyway, we’re lucky too. We’re alive. And we weren’t born stupid. That’s why I think we should study.”

A sudden idea lit up my face with a smile.

“Study?” Rogan repeated. “I always liked to study. I went to school with the priests,” he reminded us. “And one of them once said to me, ‘Rogan, you could become a minister’. Can you believe it?”

I do not know whether I believed him, but he had told us the story so many times that I was going to believe him for good. As the Priest opened his mouth with some new inspiration, I stood up abruptly and said energetically:

“We’re going to study. Now. It’s a holiday, it’s the perfect day,” I argued. “Come on, let’s go.”

I had taken them all by surprise.

“Sharpy, where are you going?” Manras wondered when he saw me standing.

I smiled broadly.

“To the National Library. Come on, shyurs!”

I started to walk away, holding Little Wolf’s hand, and I heard Syrdio’s laughter.

“You’re losing it, Sharpy!”

I came back to pull Arik by the sleeve and say:

“Not at all. Arik will open us up. He has a magic wand. It’s going to be amazing. Have you ever seen shelves full of books? I have. But I want you to see them. Come on, come on, don’t be slackers, to study you have to be pers… persev… I mean, you’ve gotta have guts and work super hard, and if you don’t move your shanks, you’re not going to get anything in life. Onward!”

I pulled Arik, and my cronies followed me, intrigued. Rogan did the same, looking more reserved, and Syrdio said as he joined us:

“If you get caught, you’re in big trouble, shyurs! All to see some damn books you can’t even read.”

“You bet I can!” I replied.

“You can read books for real? Yeah sure,” Syrdio retorted. “You may be a wizard, but you’re just a gwak.”

I faced him, my eyebrows furrowed. He added:

“Get real, shyur. You’re not going to make yourself a scholar by walking into the library one night. But if you want to be a smartass, that’s your problem.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wisen yourself somewhere else that’s not under surveillance?” Rogan intervened. “At the temple, for example. At this hour, they must still be celebrating the arrival of spring. And on the altar, there’s always a copy of the Holy Book. Surely you haven’t even read it.”

That Syrdio should oppose me was not unexpected, but the Priest? I looked at them both, puzzled. Was my idea so far-fetched? I just wanted to learn! Then Arik asked in Caeldric:

“What’s going on?”

I sighed and glanced at the vampire thoughtfully. He hadn’t understood a thing. Rogan added:

“Let’s go to the Bivouac. From there, the fireworks can be seen super well. Let’s go, ’kay?”

I sighed again, disappointed. As my companions started walking out of the park, I took Little Wolf on my shoulders and followed them, taciturn. After a silence, I asked Arik in an innocent tone:

“How does your magic wand work?”

* * *

The next afternoon, I entered a clothing store for nail-pinchers, behind a tall woman and her two sons, sneaked behind some shelves, and taking advantage of the fact that the saleswoman had not yet seen me, I hid behind a large crate covered with piles of cloth. Once there, I waited. I waited until my muscles went numb and the excitement of the theft wore off. Night fell. And the store closed. I waited a long time, listening for the slightest noise, and then I came out of my hiding place. I stalked to the counter, avoiding the stacks and shelves, groped around, and finally found the cash register. I took out the magic key and inserted it into the lock. I activated the magara, which warped into the shape of the proper key, turned, and the box opened. I immediately withdrew the magara, for Arik had warned me that it could get stuck in the lock. I looked inside the crate and held my breath. There were at least thirty siatos in coins and bills in there. I swiped it all. I opened the exit door and left like the wind, surrounded by harmonic shadows. I didn’t come out any more knowledgeable or erudite, but I now had enough money to pay off my debt to Swift and even hire a tutor for a whole moon. Wasn’t that a genius idea!

As spring was coming, Swift had decided to change shelter. The Bivouac was good for not freezing to death, because the ground was always warm, but it was a lethal hell of sharp rocks: the day before, without going further back, Little Wolf had been on the verge of breaking his bones, and only the Priest’s reflexes had saved him. So we had moved to a dead end of the Labyrinth, property of those of Frashluc. In exchange for promises of certain privileges—such as a safe haven or cheaper rodaria—we compromised to work for them, whether as simple “eyes”, professional beggars, bootblackers, or merchants: anything was good. Up to that point, Swift had always tried to avoid any compromise, but they had obviously changed his mind. And I, as a member of the gang, followed suit. I thought that maybe this way the Black Daggers wouldn’t know where to look for me anymore. I didn’t like the idea of continuing to work for Frashluc, but hadn’t I promised to be loyal in exchange for the Black Hawk’s death? Well, for once, I was keeping my word.

It took me a good two hours to get to the shelter, because I was careful. I didn’t want the loot to be taken from me. I finally reached the dead end and, placing the money in such a way that no one could take it from me without my noticing, I settled down to sleep, rich as a nail-pincher. And I slept.

Over the next few days, I set about finding a teacher who would be willing to teach not only me but a whole group of gwaks. The first was a wise old woman from the Cats. She came to the shelter for three days every afternoon to teach us things, until I bought a small slate and chalk for her to draw letters for us and it turned out that the old woman could not write. That would have really annoyed me if the old woman hadn’t been a kind and sympathetic soul, so I said to her: thank you, grandma, but we want to study with a real teacher. And I sent her away.

I fired two other less friendly crooks before coming to the conclusion that, in the Cat Quarter, I was not going to find any educated sajit. So I went to Tarmil.

By this point, my loot had dwindled considerably. First, Swift had kept ten siatos as the kap. Then I had to change the paper money for hard cash, and Frashluc’s men took a good share. I had a total of thirty goldies left. Thirty goldies to become a knowledgeable man.

Finally, I thought of my brother Skelrog. He was a schoolmaster: he certainly knew a lot. It was the first Kindday of Straw Moon. After making an errand to the Swashbuckler, I went straight to Passage School, not without remembering to pass far from The Crazy Nut, just in case. The school was deserted. Was I late? I was about to turn back, disappointed, soaked in the spring rain, when I saw two figures talking near the school’s service door, under the courtyard. It was Skelrog, with Kakzail. Perhaps alerted by my sudden immobility, the two brothers turned their eyes to me. I took a step to the side, suddenly filled with apprehension. If they caught me, ayo freedom. All things considered, was it worth telling Skelrog about my scholarly aspirations? It was rather risky.

“Ashig?” Kakzail snapped, surprised.

I turned around and ran away, calling myself a demorjed. Why on earth had I gone to Passage School if I was going to run away as soon as I got there? Triple demorjed.

I was still running when, unexpectedly, I was tripped, and just as I was about to sprawl in a puddle, arms grabbed me before I hit the ground and dragged me to a dead end. When I looked up, I felt as good as dead. It was Yal. My master had a look on his face that did not bode well.

“Elassar…” I gasped.

“No Elassar here,” he replied briskly. He shoved me, and as I struggled to catch my balance, he hissed: “You are the worst sari I could have had. You have shamed the whole brotherhood and deceived us all. Korther can do nothing more for you, Mor-eldal, do you understand? He has expelled you for good.”

I bowed my head. Guilt gnawed at my insides. After a silence, Yal made a sudden, altered gesture.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

I bit my upper lip nervously, raising and lowering my head in agitation. The disappointment that shone in my master’s eyes was so penetrating that I wanted to slap myself.

“Korther thinks he knows how you escaped,” Yal added in a voice from beyond the grave. “If you tell us where the…boy who went out with you is, he’ll spare your life.”

I looked up sharply. How the hell did they know about Arik?

“I ran away by myself,” I replied.

Yal gritted his teeth and breathed in to calm himself.

“Some Undergrounders are looking for him. And they are willing to leave the tunnel intact if we bring them the vam… the boy. He was wearing an elven cloak. And we know one was sold in the Cats not long ago. We don’t know who sold it yet, but… it won’t be long before we find out. And if it turns out he’s with you, Draen, that would be the last straw. Look, this boy is not a normal boy.”

I rolled my eyes and said:

“No idea where the hell is that gwak. There’re only normal people in my gang.”

Yal shook me by the shoulders with intense exasperation.

“You don’t realize the situation you’re in, Draen! You’re playing with your life.”

I saw movement behind my master… and my eyes widened. Kakzail was there, standing at the entrance to the dead end. Who knows what he had heard? Alerted by my gaze, Yal turned around and more or less regained his composure, calling out:

“Well, well. Kakzail Malaxalra. What a surprise.”

My older brother drummed on the pommel of his sword.

“What’s a Capitol official and a gwak doing in an alley? Or perhaps I should say two Black Daggers.”

I snorted.

“One Black Dagger. I’m not one anymore.”

And saying this, I tried to go round my master and make a way for myself by pretending to walk quietly, and then I went like an arrow. I avoided Kakzail’s hand and disappeared down the street.

The goal of going to rescue Arik kept me from any pessimistic thoughts about that “you’re playing with your life” and Korther’s threat of death. I went deep into the Labyrinth and made sure no one was following me before returning to the shelter. Arik wasn’t there. I waited impatiently. I saw my cronies return, and eventually the whole gang. And every time a companion arrived, I jumped up and down and said, “What about Arik?”. Nothing, they didn’t know where he was.

Increasingly convinced that he had been caught, I felt a relief of a thousand demons when I heard Swift’s voice and saw his figure with that of the vampire. I rushed forward.

“Arik! You must leave. The prince knows you’re here.”

The vampire’s blue eyes shone in the light of the small fire.

“How?” he said. “How does he know?”

I grimaced.

“Because of the Black Daggers. And because of the elven cloak that was sold. Come. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

I told Swift what was happening, and without further ado, we planned our escape. We would go to the Crypt, but to do that, we had to cross one of the bridges. We chose the Moon Bridge, the closest and most direct path, and within minutes we were on our way.

As we moved forward, I gave Arik some advice:

“If you come across a nadre or a wolf, you climb a tree. Since you’re a vampire, I’m not telling you not to eat berries and mushrooms you don’t know. But I guess that goes for animals you don’t know. You go on towards the Rising Sun, to the mountains. If you want to come back, if I were you, I would at least wait for a moon, because knowing how nosy the Black Daggers are…”

I chatted on and on until we came to Moon Square. There I hid my face well without slowing my pace. It was already dark, it had stopped raining, and the Moon and the Gem lit up the sky. In the darkness, I saw a suspicious figure on the other side of the main square. Anyone else would not have noticed it, but I was on the lookout. I stopped in the shadows of a building and whispered to Arik:

“I think they’re watching the bridge.”

“The Black Daggers?” the vampire inquired.

I nodded.

“We should split up,” I suggested. “The Black Daggers might recognize me. As I told you, the forest is straight ahead, you can’t go wrong.”

Arik nodded, tense.

“Thank you.”

I smiled.

“You’re welcome. By the way, your mother’s stone. I almost forgot about it. Will you leave me the wand? In the forest, you won’t find any locked doors…”

“It runs,” Arik said in Drionsan. He hesitantly accepted the stone and handed me back the music necklace. He articulated, “Swift told me: ‘he made a fool of you with that necklace’. Is that true?”

I swallowed.

“Er… Swift, that scoundrel,” I croaked. “That scaluftard was talking nonsense. Anyway, the important thing is that we’re buddies and we’ve helped each other out, right?”

Arik’s eyes smiled.

“Yeah. I guess so,” he admitted in Caeldric. “You know? If it wasn’t for the prince…I would have stayed.”

The confession brought a smile to my face.

“Natural,” I said in Drionsan. “Even vampires need comrades.” I patted him on the shoulder and pointed with my chin to a group of people heading toward the bridge. “Mingle with that group over there, and you’ll cross as invisible as a spirit.”

Arik breathed in, nodded, and then began to walk towards the bridge. He stopped after a few steps just to say:

“Ayo.”

My smile widened.

“Ayo, ayo! Take care of yourself.”

At that moment, I had the funny impression that I had taken the place of my nakrus master and Arik had taken mine: I was staying at home, and he was going off to explore the world.

As the vampire began to cross the bridge among the passersby, I walked around the square to get closer and make sure the young vampire would arrive safely on the other side. I kept watching the suspicious-looking one out of the corner of my eye. Now he didn’t look so suspicious to me. He was relaxed, smoking a pipe near the bridge. When I lost sight of Arik, I said to myself: it’s time to go. And I turned back, just in time to see two figures heading straight for me. One of them looked familiar. I jumped up like a squirrel and ran down the quay to the river. One of them blocked my way by taking a shortcut through another street, and I changed my course, but the other blocked my way. I was trapped. I jumped aboard one of the barges moored there. There were several lines and I could continue to run from barge to barge. If only I could make it to the canal near the Mill Prison, maybe I could lose them.

My bare feet made almost no noise on the wood. The boots of my two pursuers, however, were clearly audible. Now that I remembered Yal’s words, I had no doubt about the intentions of these guys. They had been sent to kill me. Korther had had enough of me, I had betrayed him too many times, what I had done was unforgivable. They’d kicked me out of the Brotherhood, and I knew the location of the new Hostel, I knew Korther, Aberyl, and Rolg were demons, and to top it all off, I was a necromancer monster… Let’s just say they had more than enough reason to kill me.

I was ragingly lucky: I just happened to pass a barge-tavern where a wedding party was taking place and managed to slip away in the middle of the crowd. I legged it along the canal and came upon some boys I knew from Fairbank Pension. I said to them:

“Ayo, the flies are chasing me, please cover me!”

They all understood, and as they resumed their daily cork race, one of them lent me his coat, we exchanged hats, I rubbed my face with ashes and became unrecognizable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my pursuers continuing their race down a random street. I was pretty sure that one of them was Aberyl.

After complaining to the companions of Fairbank Pension about those flies that kept poisoning the gwaks, I said:

“I owe you one, comrades. If you ever want to buy anything in the market over there in the Cats, don’t hesitate, I’ll act as a middleman and give you a discount. Ask after Sharpy. I’m pretty well known in the neighborhood.”

I played a cork race with them, in case the Black Daggers came back. And indeed they did come back, but they paid no more attention to us on the way back than on the way out. So when I thought I was safe at last, I took my coat and cap, said “ayo” to them, and returned to the Cats by a circuitous route.

The closer I got to the shelter, the more my thoughts swirled in my head and the more fear came back to oppress me. Because I knew that, if the Black Daggers hadn’t caught me tonight, they’d catch me in at most two, three, four days maybe, and if they were going to pop me off in such a short time, honestly, I’d almost be better off leaving with Arik.

So I arrived at the shelter trembling, and as the companions wanted to know if the escape had gone well, they all noticed my condition.

“Did he get caught?” Swift worried.

I shook my head and rubbed my chest, as if that could rub off the fear.

“No. He’s gone. I was the one they almost got.”

“The Black Daggers?” the Priest asked.

I nodded mechanically and stammered:

“They want to pop me off. I should… turn myself in. After all, I deserve it.”

Swift let out a gasp, grabbed me by the shoulders, and shook me.

“Don’t be an isturbag. You won’t turn yourself in. Sit down and breathe, namesake.”

I sat down, but I repeated more fervently:

“I’ll turn myself in. I betrayed my cousin. He was my master. I’ve been such a bastard. All because of that isturbag of Frashluc. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”

I couldn’t control myself any longer, so I scratched myself until I bled. I wanted to claw my eyes out. I wanted to live, and at the same time, I wanted to die. I wanted to be left in peace! They pulled my hands away. I screamed in despair. And they calmed me down by putting drugs in my mouth. I was left spacey, but nevertheless, when Little Wolf came to me, I hugged him gently and rocked him to sleep. I didn’t sleep a wink all night, and in case I had any idea of sneaking out, they gave me another dose of dandepassion.

When I woke up around noon, I was still groggy. Manras and Dil knew that they didn’t have to work for food as long as I was with them, so they had been lazing around in the dead end. Unless it was because Swift had asked them to watch me. They were busy playing thumb wrestling. I barely looked up, wrapped my head in my blanket again, and pretended to be asleep. Now that my fit of despair and my apathetic state were over, my head was gradually waking up. My nakrus master used to say that when faced with a problem one should always look for a solution before giving in. So I spent the next few hours looking for one. After a while, Manras came and pulled me by the ear, saying, “Sharpy! We know you’re awake”. I rolled my eyes, sat up, ate some leftover lentils with bread, and spent the afternoon with my cronies and Little Wolf.

As I knew that my outburst the day before had shocked my friends, I made an effort to release my good humor and show them that I had not gone mad. For though it was true that I had betrayed and disappointed some of my loved ones, I still had other loved ones who liked me, who were not angry with me, and who wanted me to play with them. So I sent my worries for the future to chase the clouds away and played with my companions.

We were busy drawing on the slate with the chalk—and I was saying to Manras “isturbag, you don’t spit to erase, you rub with your fist, you’re really an isturbag”— when a head appeared in the dead end, and I jumped to my feet.

“Diver!”

We welcomed him with joy and he came and sat down with a curious expression on his face.

“I was told about yesterday,” he said. He looked down with careful eyes at my right arm reddened by my scratches from the night before and shrugged, smiling. “I was going to offer you something, but I see you’re doing better.”

I looked at him eagerly.

“Offer me something? What?”

My friend shrugged again.

“Well… I’ve been offered something to keep you away from the Black Daggers. Are you interested?”

“If I am interested?” I cried, dumbfounded. “Ragingly!”

Diver continued:

“Delivering messages in Frashluc’s tunnels, running around like a maniac, breaking your back, cleaning out forbidden houses, doing everything you’re told like a lackey… Are you still interested?”

I nodded vigorously: in the face of death, any such alternative was good enough. Diver smiled broadly.

“Great. So, are we partners?”

He raised his hand. My heart vibrating with relief and excitement, I bumped it and said:

“Partners!”

22 Reviving a leftover partridge

I stumbled into the noisy Great Refectory and snuck up on Fishka, who was drinking with his friends, and whispered in his ear:

“The big one comes in at one o’clock, no change of street.”

This meant: the goods will be unloaded at one o’clock, upriver, in the same place as usual. It wasn’t easy to unload contraband in the city itself, so the free traders would have to take a whole load of equipment a few miles northwest, following the Estergat River upstream. Fishka nodded briefly and passed the message on to his comrades. I was already running away, in case they had the idea of calling me and asking me for a song, or worse, inviting me to drink their disgusting heavenly radrasia with them.

A lady had left a bag for me to take to a Cat named Yelskadur. I gave it to him and nabbed a small piece of bread from a table—no one protested—and then I hurried out of there.

The underground realms of Frashluc were complex. Many of them were not connected, and one had to go out on the surface, through alleys, across terraces, and up stairs to reach the entrance to other tunnels. In all, I ended up knowing about twenty of them. Some were simple shortcuts or emergency exits, old smelly sewers or, on the contrary, narrow tunnels with neat staircases that linked the lower part of the Cats with the upper part and continued up to the Harp. However, I was not yet allowed to go through the tunnel that went so high up into the Rock: I was lackey number two. Diver was number one.

I had been working as a full-time gwak of Frashluc for ten days. For the first five days, I had hardly been separated from Diver, who had been my guide. Now we were working alone. I continued to sleep with the gang, but Diver slept near Frashluc’s house, in a cellar connected to the underground tunnel. Lowen’s mother had taken a dislike to him, he said, and she forbade him to even look into the eyes of the nail-pinchers living in the house. That’s how they thanked him for the hours he spent cleaning the house! I prayed every night that I would never have to see Frashluc again. I was doing my job as a messenger, guarding the tunnels and scrubbing them to remove the moss: these were tiring tasks, but they didn’t upset my mind, they didn’t paralyze me with fear; it was rather the opposite: I felt safe, useful and even happy! I would not have changed my place for that of Diver, not even for eight hundred and forty siatos.

As for my cronies, I had at last found a Cat who was able and willing to teach them, so Manras and Dil spent two hours a day sitting at a table in the Great Refectory, listening attentively and drawing letters and numbers. I had insisted that other fellows should join them, but they were not so diligent as my cronies, for I had warned them that if they did not listen and take it seriously I would wring their ears off and they would be stupid for ever. Come on! I hadn’t nabbed the goldies in the clothing store to waste them! I wasn’t profiting by the lessons directly, but afterwards, in the dead end, the cronies would teach me what they had learned. And so, although I worked for hours and hours, I managed to wisen myself a little.

I hummed as I walked briskly down a deserted alley. I turned a corner, climbed a ladder, and came to a terrace full of hanging laundry. I saw the shadow behind a sheet, and walking silently, I passed behind the human girl and called out:

“Ayo, Ruki!”

The redhead girl gave a cry of surprise and, turning around, she pretended to smack me, but I was already out of reach. The girl smiled.

“Ayo, Draen.”

Ruki was the Albino’s sister, she was twelve years old, and although we had only known each other for ten days, we got on very well: she said that I was a bit like her saviour because, since she had been looking after the household and her sick aunt, she was bored out of her mind, and with me she was not bored.

“Do you have a moment?” I asked.

“As long as my aunt doesn’t call me,” Ruki snorted.

We smiled, and after helping her hang up the remaining laundry, I sat with her on some wooden crates, both of us hidden between two sheets.

“For once, I have news for you,” Ruki said, hugging her knees. “Last night, my brother came over with a friend. And I listened to them talk. You wouldn’t believe what I heard. If I tell you, you won’t get over it.”

“Well, don’t tell me then!” I joked. However, deep down, I was dying of curiosity. The Albino, after all, was Frashluc’s most intimate associate. “What did you hear?”

Ruki smiled broadly, put on an important face, and then, again, took an air of complicity.

“Apparently, the Black Daggers are trading with a city in the Underground, and one of them went there and came back in just three days. Can you believe it? They go through a tunnel from this very city! My brother says that Frashluc is in a black mood because the Black Daggers made deals with the nail-pinchers and not with him. Those guys are crazy. Getting Frashluc riled up is one of the worst things you can do.”

I nodded my head in agreement, pensive.

“On the other hand, he can’t do much against them either, can he?” I mused.

Ruki looked at me as if I had gone mad.

“He can’t do anything, you say? Frashluc? He can pop them all off if he wants!”

“Pshaw, the Black Daggers are a huge brotherhood,” I replied, skeptically. “They’re everywhere. Frashluc is not the king of the world.”

Ruki rolled her eyes and gently pushed me with her bare foot.

“What would you know.”

I shrugged my shoulders and put my cap on, looking at the girl with a smart gwak smile, as if to say: I know everything. Then Ruki took my hand and said:

“The one in charge here is Frashluc, not the Black Daggers. If you think he’s not, you’re a scaluftard.”

I didn’t think he wasn’t: my attention was now focused on the hand that held mine. It wasn’t the first time she did so, but this time… I had squeezed it a little. And it was as if all my blood had rushed to my head. I was a copper from the Valley: I couldn’t blush. The young redhead, on the other hand, was as red as the Candle. Her blue eyes sparkled.

“I bet you don’t dare kiss me?”

I straightened up at the challenge.

“I don’t dare, you say?” I replied. “Well, natural I dare. And you?”

We looked at each other defiantly. And I was thinking to myself, “Courage and bravery, Mor-eldal,” when suddenly there was a:

“Ruki! Who are you talking to? Come here immediately!”

The redhead jumped up.

“Oh, no—my aunt,” she whispered with an apologetic pout. “Come back tomorrow, does it run?”

I stood up and nodded, nervous and excited at the same time. I stammered:

“It runs. Ayo.”

I disappeared like a squirrel towards the entrance of the tunnel, which was not far away. I passed the man guarding the door and went into the depths of the Rock. I had to fill one tunnel with rat poison and take the dead rats out of another: I did my job. And as I did so I kept thinking of Zenira. It was strange, wasn’t it? I’d been about to kiss Ruki, and then, bam, I started thinking about Korther’s daughter. It didn’t make sense. But, as my nakrus master used to say, necromancers weren’t usually the most reasonable people in the world.

I shook my head, and carrying a bucket full of dead rats, I made my way to the other exit, through the secret door, and arrived at the Star Court House, the cradle of merchandise and serious business. That day it was full of Frashluc men. The sun, which was already breaking through the layer of ash in the sky, was gently illuminating the place. I was walking down a corridor towards the hallway when I came upon a group of colossuses, and I hurriedly backed away. They pushed me anyway, as they passed, but I did not drop my bucket of rats. It would have been a very bad idea to drop it. Perhaps sensing my attachment to the bucket, one of the big fellows said:

“Gwak, how many rats do you have?”

I frowned in bewilderment.

“I didn’t count them.”

His three companions laughed. The fact was that “having rats” also meant “having guts” in slang—no idea where that expression came from, though.

“You didn’t count them, you say?” The big guy clicked his tongue and grabbed me by the collar of my ragged shirt. “Can’t you count?”

The big guy’s outburst did not surprise me: some people just jumped at any opportunity to fill their long idle hours. I nodded my head.

“I can, sir. I can count.”

“Then count. Now,” the big guy ordered.

As he and his companions looked on, I put down the bucket, knelt down, and counted the rats. Finally, I said:

“Eight. There’re eight.”

The Cats had watched me with great amusement as I rummaged through the corpses. The big guy replied:

“Are you sure?”

They were laughing. I sighed and nodded.

“As ragingly sure as two times four is eight and so is four plus four. All right?”

I was about to leave when the big guy’s hand grasped me again. His expression made me shudder. I knew instinctively that this fellow was not a free trader, nor a swindler, nor a thief. He was a henchman through and through.

“Hey, gwak, don’t be a smartass, huh?”

“No, sir,” I stammered.

Then the front door opened, and I saw the thin figure of Diver. He looked at each of us in turn before deciding that nothing serious was happening, and he intervened:

“Sharpy. Come. There’s work to do.”

The big guy held on to me for two more seconds before letting go. I picked up the bucket and went outside with Diver. As soon as I stepped out into the open, I breathed more easily. When we were a little way from the Star Court, Diver commented cheerfully:

“Looks like I came at the right time. Throw those rats away and follow me. Frashluc wants to see you.”

My heart froze. Frashluc wanted to see me? Me? Oh, good mother. That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

I emptied the bucket on a mountain of rubbish a little way off and followed Diver to The Yellow Dragon. We entered through the back door, without needing to go through the tavern, and proceeded into the tunnel. The guards at the gate knew us and let us pass without a word. Instead of heading for the great underground meeting hall, where I had spent two whole days cleaning the floor, we took another tunnel and went up the stairs. I shivered.

“Are we going to his house?”

“Yep,” Diver confirmed. And he gave me a curious look. “Don’t worry. He’s not mad at you.”

I shrugged. That’s all I needed, for Frashluc to be pissed off at me. The situation was terrifying enough as it was. Then the Diver added:

“At least I don’t think so. Why would he be mad at you?”

I gave him an alarmed look.

“What do I know.”

I replayed in my mind everything I had done in the last ten days and found only some minor reprehensible things, like secretly putting a dead rat under the pallet of Swashbuckler, that isturbag… I had also tried to revive a rat’s bones, all alone, in a tunnel, without anyone seeing me. And, well, a few more little things, but nothing that could reach Frashluc’s ears, that I know of. The Big Mole, the tunnel supervisor, had yet to find a reason to beat me up once. Which was quite a feat, according to Diver.

This tunnel, unlike the others, was well fashioned and even had niches with impressive statues of quadrupedal animals and sajits. Diver said that, according to what the Great Mole had told him, they represented the ancestors of the Goddess of the Rock, at the time when Estergat had been occupied by the Tassians. Finally, we reached the cellar where my friend slept every night, and we stopped before a door and knocked. Someone came and opened the peephole to look in, and Diver raised his hand.

“Ayo!” he said. “I bring the gwak.”

“Wait a moment,” was the reply from the other side.

And we waited. We waited so long that when the door opened the Albino caught us sitting on the pallet playing a game of morra. The pale human rolled his eyes.

“Come on, boy. Come in.”

I stood up, looking at the Albino’s expression out of the corner of my eye. He looked calm. I followed him up the stairs, into Frashluc’s house. I hadn’t paid much attention to this one the first time around, but I remembered that it had seemed to me like a perfect nail-pincher’s house, and I confirmed that as I climbed the shiny wooden stairs. Once upstairs, the Albino knocked on a door, and we heard:

“Come on in.”

Frashluc’s voice made me feel even more tense. The Albino opened the door, waved me in, and I crossed the threshold.

It was the same living room as the last time, except that it had been refurnished: there was a large red and gold carpet, sideboards, shelves, and an imposing sofa where the old nail-pincher was sitting, a blanket on his knees. A great fire was glowing in the huge fireplace. I stood by the door, but the Albino pushed me forward. Frashluc clicked his tongue.

“Devils. No, no, no!” he growled. “You’re dirtying my carpet, you filthy gwak! Back, back. He stinks.”

“Gosh, I hadn’t thought of that,” the Albino admitted, embarrassed.

Frashluc glared at him. Unlike the other times I had seen him, he was in a bad mood that day. Blasthell. I stood by the wall, off the carpet, stupidly fighting back tears, because if I was filthy, it was precisely because I was doing my job. Blasthell.

Frashluc coughed, and I looked up again, startled. Now that I saw him like that on the sofa… he looked like he was sick. The kap, sick! It was hard to believe.

When his coughing stopped, he accepted a glass of water from a young servant. When he had emptied it, Frashluc shooed her away, and as she bent down to adjust his blanket, he barked:

“Out!”

The girl walked out quietly, but not without giving me a half-curious, half-compassionate look. I returned her gaze. After a silence, the Albino cleared his throat.

“Should I send him to the bathroom or something?”

Frashluc coughed and grunted:

“No. Do it later. Right now, I want him to answer my questions. Let him answer from there: I don’t need to cough in his face. Kid,” he called to me then, “Answer. That little kid you took to Coldpalm’s—he was sick and you nursed him back to health, didn’t you?”

The question caught me so off guard that I just stared at him, my eyes wide. How did he know that…? The Albino grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.

“Answer, gwak.”

I swallowed and nodded.

“Yes.”

Frashluc was now looking at me with hawk-like eyes.

“Coldpalm left that kid to you, and not to Le Bor. Because you’re a magician and you can heal. Because… you are like Coldpalm.” He paused and whispered, “Am I right, little necromancer?”

This killed me. I had been working for Frashluc for ten days, I had betrayed the Black Daggers because of him twice, that devil had been toying with my life, and now it turned out that he wanted to continue tormenting me! I broke down and tears rolled silently down my cheeks.

“Korther knows, no doubt. Maybe he has taught you something himself. Rumors say that that elfocan has… an obsession with forbidden books. Including necromancy.”

I frowned. Korther? Nonsense; like he was going to teach me necromancy when he was a demon… Oh. But of course Frashluc didn’t know he was a demon. Did he?

“How well do you know the necromantic arts?” Frashluc asked. “Can you raise the dead? Just curious.”

“Answer,” the Albino insisted.

I gritted my teeth and, after staring at the kap, nodded.

“A little.”

Frashluc’s eyes sparkled.

“For real? Show me! Jarvik, get the leftover partridge from the kitchen. Make sure it doesn’t miss a bone.”

The Albino gave Frashluc an incredulous look.

“Sir. Are you sure that…?”

“Go get them!” Frashluc shouted.

The Albino left, but not without giving me a warning look beforehand, as if to say: you’d better not go near the kap. I didn’t move an inch. Frashluc was examining me with renewed attention, and that frightened me.

“If you can’t get it to move, boy,” he told me, “I’ll cut your tongue out for lying to me.”

I felt with redoubled consciousness my tongue, which was becoming pasty in my mouth. And I thought: without a tongue, ayo the songs, ayo the chatter, ayo the cheerful blabbering with the comrades… I could still learn to speak using the harmonies as skillfully as my master, it runs, but it would never be the same… I clenched my trembling left hand. After a silence, the kap asked:

“I offered you the opportunity to stay safe, out of reach of the Black Daggers. Are you satisfied with your job?”

I regained my speech and uttered:

“Yes, sir.”

A mocking glint shone in Frashluc’s eyes.

“That master in the mountains,” he resumed. “Is he a necromancer?”

I sighed.

“Yes, sir. But he’s not in the mountains anymore.”

“Oh, no? And where is he?”

I perceived in his question a keen interest which alarmed me. I told the truth:

“Dunno. Very far away. He’s gone.”

Frashluc’s eyebrows were furrowed.

“Do you know any other necromancers?” I shook my head, and he added sharply, “No one lies to Frashluc!”

“I ain’t lying, sir,” I gasped. “I ain’t seen no other nakrus. I swear.”

Frashluc’s eyes opened wide. He had a coughing fit. When he calmed down, he croaked:

“Nakrus. Your master was a nakrus.”

This time it was I who widened my eyes. Blasthell. I’d been confusing necromancers with nakrus for so long, I’d ended up blundering. Frashluc was deep in thought. Finally, he asked:

“How old was he?”

I stood still and silent. The door opened, and the Albino returned with a tray full of bones and the expression of one who thinks he is doing something bestially ridiculous…

“How old!” Frashluc demanded to know.

The Albino placed the tray with the gnawed bones on the edge of the carpet without daring to interrupt the interrogation. My lips trembled. Finally I stammered:

“T-three thousand. I think.”

Frashluc was looking at me with a crazy look in his eyes.

“Three thousand years,” he repeated.

He was in shock, and the silence continued. I thought to myself: I betrayed the Black Daggers, but I’m not betraying my master now, am I? I tried to think I wasn’t, because after all, my master was already far, far away from the Republic of Arkolda.

The fire crackled in the silence of the living room. Then Frashluc breathed in and said:

“Show me.”

He meant the partridge bones. Breathing heavily, I knelt down by the tray and looked at the bones, but at that moment, I was more aware of the two pairs of eyes that followed my movements. Could I put this partridge together again? More or less, perhaps. Without saying a word, I began the arduous task of recognizing the bones and joining them together with mortic energy. Sometimes, I made mistakes and had to remove several bones. Frashluc’s coughing distracted me, and the Albino’s rather dismayed look didn’t help, but eventually, I got the bird back together. I made sure they were both paying attention, and then, with effort, I moved one leg. Then the other. And again. The bone bird moved around the tray. Suddenly, the Albino said in a muffled voice:

“This is the most appalling thing I’ve ever seen.”

My concentration fell apart, and the partridge with it. I felt groggy, because I had used so much energy. I still wasn’t very good at not wasting mortic energy on these spells—it was also true that I didn’t have much practice: it wasn’t the same to move a skeleton from a distance as to move a hand stuck to your own body.

I was rubbing my eyes when I felt a draft and looked up to see that Frashluc had abandoned his sofa and was leaning over me. His eyes were blazing. He reached out with both hands and grabbed my head—my being filthy didn’t seem to matter to him anymore.

“You’re going to teach me,” he affirmed in a whisper. “And you’re going to help me transform.”

Trapped between his two warm hands, I looked at him, frozen, stunned. Teach him? Transform? But transform into… what? Into a nakrus, obviously. Into a nakrus. Frashluc wanted me to turn him into a nakrus!

He coughed in my face and let go. And, overcome by a nameless fear, I stammered:

“I don’t know how to do that.”

But Frashluc’s coughing covered my stuttered words. And when he recovered, he did not ask me what I had said. He only insisted:

“You’re going to turn me into a nakrus because, if you don’t, I’ll cut your head off.”

Any expert necromancer who heard this would have burst out laughing. Turning him into a nakrus? That was a good one! It took years and years to transform, and no one had ever turned into a nakrus without being a necromancer himself, and a good one. Even Coldpalm hadn’t managed to transform properly. And now he was asking me, an eleven-year-old gwak, to turn him into a nakrus!

Frashluc stood up and ordered:

“Send him to wash, Jarvik. And give him some clothes. From now on, the little magician stays here.”

The nail-pincher looked at me, smiled to himself, and went back to his sofa. And the Albino, without daring to touch me, said:

“Come on, boy.”

I stood up shakily on my two legs and followed Jarvik out of the living room, more dead than alive.

23 Long live the king: the power of a blessing

They locked me in a room in a cellar of the house, and every day for about four hours at a stretch, they forced me to reveal secrets of necromancy. At first, my answers were hesitant, but the Albino, overcoming his new-found fear of me, firmed up my answers by dint of caning and whacking. Well, if they thought Frashluc would succeed in turning himself into a nakrus like that, they were fooling themselves.

By the second day, the old nail-pincher had recovered from his cough, but not from his obsession with learning my secrets. And he was clawing them out of me. He would have ripped out my insides if he thought the truth was written there.

Usually, it was the Albino who brought me out of the cellar in the early afternoon to the living room. On the fifth day, however, Frashluc came to fetch me alone in my room in the middle of the night. He had to shake me forcefully to wake me up. Lying on my bed, I lifted my head and blinked at the light. I felt faint, because every night before I went to sleep, the Albino gave me drugged water. I think he was nervous about having a necromancer in the house, and he wanted to make sure that I did not open my eyes all night. And indeed, he didn’t go half-way, for I had not slept so much and so deeply in a very long time.

Still half asleep, I heard Frashluc’s words:

“Tell me, boy. How long do you think it will be before I can transform?”

He looked distressed. Frashluc, distressed! He had placed a wrinkled hand on my chest. I swallowed.

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

I’d told him that before. Frashluc gritted his teeth.

“Coldpalm failed in her attempt, I will not fail,” he muttered. “I will not leave my kingdom to my son. Darys is an incompetent, and my grandson is only twelve. It would ruin everything I’ve built. I can’t die now.”

I realized that he was not talking to me, but to himself. I said nothing, and gradually woke up, fighting the effects of the soporific. I did not sit up, for Frashluc still had his hand on my chest. The room was silent. And then…

“You’re afraid of me,” Frashluc whispered. “Everyone is afraid of me. That was the point. Terrify them and you will win,” he pronounced. He gave me a light sharp tap on the chest, and I gasped as he asserted, “Submit them and you will be king of the underworld.”

After another silence during which Frashluc was deep in thought, I blurted out:

“Are you going to die, sir?”

Frashluc turned his gaze to me, and a mocking glint appeared in his eyes.

“Would my death make you happy, gwak?”

I regretted having opened my mouth. I stammered:

“No, sir!”

Frashluc snorted with skepticism and mockery.

“You’ll die along with me,” I then heard him declare, horrified. “Unless I transform. If that happens, boy, I’ll outlive you by a lot. Three thousand years,” he said.

I looked at him, my eyes wide. Good mother! This sajit was losing his mind but bestial. I had to find a way out. If only I could be sure that everyone in the house was asleep and run away right away…

“I can’t do it,” I said with a sudden rage.

A dangerous glint passed into Frashluc’s eyes.

“What are you saying?”

“I can’t,” I repeated. “I don’t know how. Please send me back to the tunnels. I don’t mind having to put my rags back on, I’ll get the rats out of all the tunnels, I’ll leave them all shiny, I swear to you, sir, but don’t ask me to do something I don’t know how to do.”

I had pushed his hand away and knelt before his bent figure. And now I wondered: should I continue to beg, or should I leg it at once? For a terrible moment, Frashluc said nothing. He breathed heavily, with the faltering breathing of an old man. Then he gave a dull, sarcastic laugh, and suddenly he pushed me with unexpected strength and put a knife to my throat.

“So be it,” he growled. “So be it, useless gwak. Then tell me where I can find your master. If I can’t transform within two moons, I’ll cut your head off. Remember that.”

I breathed in and stammered something incomprehensible. I tried to remember the name of the place where my master had gone, but in this moment of stress, I could not recall it. I groaned, held out my hands imploringly, and Frashluc spat:

“Dammit.”

At that moment, I thought the old nail-pincher was so eager to turn himself into a bag of bones and so disgusted with my uselessness that he was going to cut my throat for good right there. Dismayed, I sent him a mortic discharge. I had barely been able to build up any energy, but it was effective: Frashluc screamed, dropped the knife, and put his hand to his chest before falling to the ground. He was not unconscious, he was convulsing. Suddenly, I saw the door open wide, and I thought to myself, “This is it, I am dead”. I was very surprised when, instead of seeing the Albino, I saw the grandson, Lowen. And I was even more surprised when, finding his grandfather on the floor, the young nail-pincher did not cry out, but rushed to him and said:

“Grandpa?”

Grandfather had stopped convulsing, and was now propping his chest up to his heart. He let out a whisper which I did not understand, and then a death rattle. After which, Lowen stepped back from the old man and turned to me, his hands trembling. I, Mor-eldal, had remained paralyzed in my place without moving an inch, like a complete isturbag. By now, a clever gwak would have been running for his life to reach some safe place, he would have acted… but, as I say, I was a complete isturbag.

Lowen said in a strangely serene voice:

“He’s dead. Come. You have to get out of here.”

He held out a hand, and I almost threw a mortic shock at him too—this one more powerful, because I was preparing it—but what he said made me hold it back. I swallowed my urge to shout a “blasthell, thunders, and embers!” that would have echoed through the house, and nodded. I stood up and let Frashluc’s grandson lead me. We came out of the cellar, and instead of going into the hall, we went into his room. There he opened the window and whispered:

“They cut the branch off the cherry tree. You’ll have to jump. You can’t go through the exit door below: there’s a guard.”

I nodded and took him by the arm, my heart frozen.

“Why, Lowen?”

In the bluish light of the Gem I could see his pale face. He whispered:

“Grandpa said, ‘Save him’.” He hesitated and added, “Besides, we’re comrades, aren’t we?”

I was deeply moved, and, caught up in a sudden impulse, I gave him a strong gwak hug, stammering:

“Thanks, comrade. You’re the best.”

My hug seemed to make him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and said:

“Wait a minute. I’ll give you my old cloak. Here.”

I breathed in disbelief. Was he offering it to me for real? I refrained from giving him another hug and put on the cloak, trying to regain some composure, which was no small feat because, devils, I had just caused the death of the greatest kap of the Cats! And his grandson—no more and no less than his grandson—was helping me escape. I sat astride the window and looked down. There was a good ten-foot drop. Lowen handed me the end of a sheet, and I understood his intention. He pulled me down a good section, and I arrived at the ground safely. I waved an “ayo” towards the figure of my nail-pincher friend and walked away, surrounded by harmonic shadows, down the deserted street of Atuerzo, my heart still frozen.

Save him, Frashluc had said. Well, he most likely had said “save it”, referring to his kingdom and not his assassin. But who could tell now. The case was that Lowen had heard his last whisper in the best possible way, but he was one of a kind. As for the Cats working for Frashluc, they were going to resent me to death. And I couldn’t hope anymore that the Black Daggers would help me get a refuge.

I huffed nervously as I walked the streets of the upper part of the Cats. Now I had four options. Either I sneaked into the tunnel at The Crazy Nut and flew to the Underground, or I popped myself off directly, or waited for Frashluc’s men or the Black Daggers to do so, or I followed Arik’s example and legged it to the Crypt. Of all these options, the one that appealed to me the most, of course, was the latter. But I wasn’t happy about it, because I didn’t want to be left alone like a lost soul. Luckily, as I say, there were always other options.

Four o’clock in the morning had struck shortly before I reached Swift’s alley. Everyone was sleeping. I walked between the disordered bodies, looking for my cronies. I found them near Little Wolf and Rogan. I shook all four of them.

“Wake up, comrades,” I whispered.

Rogan opened his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he muttered.

“I’ve got to leg it away from the Rock on the double,” I explained. “And I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”

Dil looked up in surprise; Manras muttered something, half awake; and Rogan straightened on one elbow, stunned:

“Leg… what… how? Wait, wait.” The Priest sat up completely and pinched his cheeks to wake up. “Why do you have to leg it?”

I sighed, shook Manras with one hand, and pulled on the Priest.

“I’ll explain on the way. Now, are you coming or not?” I had a sudden idea and threw it out, “If you come, you’ll be the best comrades I ever had.”

Rogan let out a snort that sounded like he was asking for some time to think. The problem was, there was no time. I tugged at him again, insisting:

“So, are you coming or not? I gotta go right now, now, now. Do you understand?”

“And I have to snooze, Sharpy,” Manras protested. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it can’t,” I said. There was a silence. Then I saw myself, for a moment, leaving the capital alone. Blasthell. I didn’t want that. I gritted my teeth, hesitated, then whispered, “Please, comrades.” I swallowed, and as my companions said nothing, I snorted, suddenly feeling betrayed, and I said: “Whatever, do what you want, so long guys—”

“Where do you want to go?” the Priest interrupted.

I was about to walk away to make them decide, but I stopped short. Where was I going to go? I hadn’t thought much about that. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Lysentam. What do you say?”

I guessed his smile.

“Look, let’s make a deal, Sharpy. I leg it with you, but then you explain everything and let me choose where we go, how about that?”

I could only rejoice and say:

“Runs for me ragingly, Priest. Come on! Shyurs, did you hear that? Priest is leaving too. Move it, let’s go.”

I shook Dil, and he and Manras finally stood up. The Priest took Little Wolf on his shoulders, and we were about to leave the dead end when I heard a clearing of the throat.

“You don’t even say ayo to me, Sharpy?”

I sighed. I’d woken Swift and who knows how many others. I turned around.

“I’m sorry, Swift. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“I believe you,” the redheaded elf affirmed as he stood up and approached. “But that’s no reason to sneak away without even saying goodbye to the best of your three kaps.”

I pouted.

“Now I only have one, Swift. You.”

“Huh. I see. Frashluc has fired you, huh?” No, I fired him to hell, I thought. He clicked his tongue. “I told you, Sharpy. Wherever you go, act like a cripple; otherwise, you’ll get into trouble like in Estergat, ya know? I’m sure we’ll meet again one day. Here, these are the siatos left over from your reserve. I didn’t steal a nail, believe me. Good luck, namesake.”

He patted me on the shoulder. I smiled, accepting the money.

“Thanks, kap. Perhaps one day I will succeed in sending you guys a letter if I learn to write as the spirits dictate. I’ll send it to Yarras, the ruffian of the White. Say! What if we create a network in Arkolda and found the first organized gwakery in the Republic and…?”

Swift laughed, poking my head.

“Quit your isturbiades, shyur.”

I said a quick farewell to those who had awakened, Rogan and my cronies did the same, I taught Little Wolf to wave his little hand, and we set off from there at a good pace. We took the same route I had taken the day I left Estergat: we went along Tarmil Avenue, through the neighborhood and along the river through the Evening Park to the Red Docks. My cronies, especially Manras, asked me several times: why, Sharpy? What happened? And I told them: I’ll explain later, don’t be annoying, now, onward, onward, and faster than that.

We were passing by the Orelief Bridge, not far from Riskel, when a figure broke from the shadows and approached us. Blasthell. Was it really coming towards us or was I becoming paranoid?

It seemed that I was really getting paranoid, because the hooded sajit continued on his way without barely looking at us. I sighed with relief, stopping, and caught Rogan’s questioning look. I shook my head and resumed walking.

We left Estergat without incident, without even attracting the attention of the guards. It was already dawn when, pausing for a moment, we turned off the Imperial Road and stopped near the canal which connected the river of Estergat with the river of Urzen. There were houses and gardens there, and villages which had come together, but we were no longer in the capital.

We were thirsty and bought milk from a couple who were selling to travellers with their cart full of jugs at the side of the road. I looked at them curiously, wondering: what if I did that for a living? They looked so peaceful! We bought them biscuits too, and soon the five of us were sitting by the canal, chewing and watching the day break and the barges and carts go by. But I knew that Rogan was waiting for an explanation.

A large flake of ash landed on Little Wolf’s head. I ruffled his hair, and receiving his blue gaze, I stood him up, took out some coins, and said:

“Cronies. Go to that inn over there, the one with the red sign, see it? Ask for some bottles to drink. If they’re small, buy two.”

“Why does it always have to be us?” Manras complained.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation.

“What do you mean, always? And who’s been bringing in the money the last few weeks, huh? The wind? Don’t be a nail-pincher and go. Two bottles.”

Manras deflated his cheeks and stood up reluctantly.

“Of wine?” Dil asked.

“Whatever they have, it’s for the journey,” I explained. “Take Little Wolf along. And don’t be long!”

Both of them walked away with the little boy. Dil, who was usually more perceptive than Manras, glanced at me as if to say, “That’s not fair, we want to know too”. But he walked away anyway. The Priest, after following with his gaze the run of a messenger on horseback, cleared his throat:

“Well, are you going to tell me now?”

I stopped pulling handfuls of grass and nodded.

“I am, I am. But I…” I hesitated. “Promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”

Rogan arched an eyebrow under his top hat.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he promised.

“And that you won’t look at me like I’m a monster,” I added.

My friend arched his other eyebrow, increasingly puzzled.

“Well, it runs. What happened with Frashluc?”

I breathed in and tried to sort out my agitated thoughts.

“No,” I said at last with a decided gesture. “That comes later. I have to explain it to you from the beginning. Otherwise, you won’t understand. About my master and… Say, Priest, you’re my best friend, right?”

Rogan huffed.

“Of course. Don’t worry. You tell your story; I’ll keep quiet. I’ll be the priest and you the one who confesses. I’m good at that,” he assured me. And he smiled, uncovering his missing tooth. “Spill your guts, shyur.”

I did. I told him everything. About necromancy, about my master, about my hand. All in one go, almost without breathing, almost without daring to look at my friend for fear of seeing the repulsion on his face. And I finished by saying:

“Frashluc wanted me to transform him, and I didn’t know how. Tonight, I told him the truth, and he went like mad with his knife. So I sent him a shock, and the old man’s ticker couldn’t take it. I thought… At the time, I thought he wanted to pop me off. But now I’m not so sure. Maybe he just wanted to scare me. And me… Bah. I don’t know.”

I fell silent. Rogan was looking at me with eyes as round as plates. He stared at my right hand every time I moved it to express my confusion. After an awkward silence, I saw him shake his head as if inviting himself to take it all in.

“A necromancer,” he muttered. “Gosh, shyur. Put it that way, it sounds creepy.”

I swallowed.

“It’s not that bad,” I assured. “It’s like… it’s like with Arik. People think all vampires are bad but Arik wasn’t bad, right? Well, it’s the same for me. And the same goes for…”

I shut up in time. Oh, dear. It was one thing to reveal my secret and another to reveal the secret of Korther, Rolg, and Ab. I made an effort to remember and more or less quoted something I had read in the book Korther lent me during my spying sessions with the Purple Orb:

“Everything strange seems to us monstrous or divine. Verse forty-three,” I lied.

Rogan rolled his eyes and pushed off my cap.

“You have no idea what verse forty-three says, Sharpy, don’t blaspheme.” And he played with his hat under my anxious gaze before conceding, “I guess you’re right. I don’t know anything about these things. I didn’t even know necromancy really existed. So that’s what you used to save me in the hospital?”

“I strengthened your jaypu using our bone morjas,” I confirmed. “Mine and yours.”

Rogan stared at me again. Then he shrugged.

“Gosh. Well, what do you want me to say, shyur? You could have told me before. I wouldn’t have tattled, you know?”

A terrible relief came over me. The Priest was not really angry at my silence, nor was he put off by my actions.

“I know. I’m sorry, Rogan. It’s just that my master told me I shouldn’t tell anyone.”

“You told your cousin,” he remarked.

“Only him. The others guessed,” I grumbled. “And now… I wonder, Rogan. You believe in evil spirits, don’t you? So, do you think I could be possessed? I say that because… it could be. I’m serious. Maybe you should bless me or do something…”

Rogan put a hand on my shoulder with a broad smile.

“It runs, Sharpy, I’m gonna bless you. Kneel down, that’s it, very good. Take off your hat… Scaluftard, you can’t put your fingers like that, you always forget, shyur! All right, then. Are you ready?”

I nodded, slightly apprehensive, my palms on my forehead and my eyes fixed on my lap. Rogan stood before me and placed a hand on my head.

“I bless you, my son…” He launched into a religious tirade about I don’t know what virtues, ancestors, and life conducts—all very seriously—and, finally, he ended, “and the evil spirits that inhabit your body will have set you free when you say: peace and virtue.”

I frowned, caught in a sudden thought.

“Say, don’t you think it’s taking those gwaks a long time to come back?”

Rogan sighed.

“Peace and virtue, Sharpy.”

Oops.

“Peace and virtue!” I pronounced solemnly.

And I jumped up, just to see that my cronies were already coming back. Running. And without the bottles. What the hell? I took a step, gasped, and said, “Hey, shyurs, what’s up!” and suddenly noticed the figure standing just a few feet away from us. It was a miracle that I didn’t die of a heart attack myself at that instant. It was Aberyl in his blue scarf. He looked at us as if he had been waiting there for a long time, with all the serenity in the world.

“Sharpyyyyy!” Manras shouted as he approached. Dil was coming up behind, carrying Little Wolf. “Sharpy, Priest, we’ve been hooked of our nails!”

He almost pushed Aberyl as he came in. I did not react. I just stood there looking at the Black Dagger, as if petrified in time. Rogan snorted.

“And how the blasthell did you get hooked, shyurs? Did a wizard put a spell on you or something?”

“Something like that!” Manras assured. “We didn’t even see his face. I leave the nails on the counter and… paf. I look again and ayo, the nails. I told the tavern keeper. But he kicked us out, saying we were liars and tatterdemons.”

“He said tatterdemalions,” Dil panted as he set Little Wolf down.

And he glanced at me curiously. Suddenly noticing my immobility, Rogan asked:

“What’s up with y…? Oh,” he murmured then, looking at Aberyl as if he had suddenly noticed his presence. “You know him?”

I managed to move my head in an almost imperceptible sign of affirmation. And I heard him murmur, “Blasthell”. Yes, blasthell, blasthell, blasthell! Why on earth did the Black Daggers insist on spiriting me off? Aberyl cleared his throat slowly.

“We finally found you, boy. I’m not here to hurt you, don’t worry.”

Yeah, sure, I thought. But I didn’t want to leg it before my comrades, so I stood firm, looked the demon in the eye, and said:

“What do you want?”

“Mm…” Ab shoved his hands in his pockets. “First, that you relax and believe me: we’re not going to hurt you. Second, that you allow me to talk to you alone. Will you?”

I blinked several times. My confusion was increasing by the second.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

I saw him roll his eyes.

“No, boy. I’m not gonna kill you.”

“Tell him what you have to say,” Rogan interjected. “But stay away. Is he one of Frashluc or a Black Dagger?” he added, whispering in my ear.

“Black Dagger,” I replied in a whisper.

“Spirits, I can’t believe it,” Aberyl gasped. “Will you stop saying too much every time you open your mouth? I wouldn’t be surprised if, one of these days, I see you giving the flies a list with all our names on it.”

Swallowing my shame, I gave him a defiant look back.

“Rogan is my friend. He has a right to know. My comrades don’t snitch.”

“Oh? Then I won’t mind speaking either: we’ve got your friend, the one who tried to run off into the forest,” I heard him announce, horrified. “We got him a fortnight ago, actually. And we haven’t been able to get much out of him because the kap doesn’t trust the hobbits anymore, and he has no intention of handing over our guest to that prince of Tamisabra. So, we were wondering if you would be so kind as to ease our communication and calm Arik down.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Arik had been captured by the Black Daggers before he even got to the forest? Damn the Black Daggers! But at least it seemed that they hadn’t killed him nor had handed him over to the prince. I drew in a sharp breath and struck my forehead with my fist. Rogan gave me a slap to stop me before asking Aberyl:

“Arik? Arik is with you? What did you guys do to him?”

“Nothing,” Aberyl assured. “We just tried to talk with him, and I taught him how to play cards. Forks. Old nails. He’s good at it. He’s a smart boy. He also more or less let us know how he got out of the Hostel with you, Draen. Apparently, he had an extremely interesting magara. But it turns out he lost it, according to him.”

Under his half-mocking, half-inquisitive gaze, I bit my lower lip nervously. Aberyl was referring to the door-opener wand. But he didn’t have to know that I was the one who had it, hidden in one of the pipes of my music necklace.

Aberyl’s eyes suddenly widened, and he cried out:

“Mothers of Light!”

He was looking towards the canal. I turned around and… when I saw Little Wolf floating on a wooden box, drifting, a good two meters from the river bank, I thought I lost my mind. I shouted:

“LITTLE WOLF!”

I ran towards him. My intention was to get enough momentum to jump and grab the crate and Little Wolf. Aberyl ruined my plan by stopping me just before I jumped.

“Wait! You can swim, right?”

“I can’t,” I gasped. I couldn’t and neither could my companions.

Aberyl muttered something through his teeth, and taking off his cloak and scarf in an instant, he dove into the canal. I watched the hero, my heart racing.

“Little Wolf, don’t move!” Rogan shouted at him.

The little one was on all fours on the box. At first, he had been very focused on pitching the box as he sat or moved, but now, at our cries, he looked at us and… tried to see if he could walk on the water. What an isturbag! He disappeared beneath the surface, and I thought I would die. Fortunately, Aberyl was already reaching the box, and he managed to catch him. He brought him safely to the shore, spitting water and coughing. As soon as I saw him breathing normally, I took the little one in my arms and did not let him go, stammering:

“But what an isturbag, blasthell, what an isturbag…”

“Thank you, sir,” Rogan said, his voice full of gratitude.

Aberyl was dripping with water.

“I don’t like water for all that,” the Black Dagger growled, trying to wring out his soaked clothes.

He took off his boots to empty them. I watched him in disbelief. I looked at him, moved. And I finally said myself:

“Thank you, Ab. I’m so sorry.”

Aberyl glanced at me while shaking his boots. Finally, he smiled.

“People will end up calling me the Hero of the Gwaks, really. I’m a sentimentalist. How’s the kiddo? He doesn’t say a word…”

“He’s fine,” I assured him, my breathing still a little slurred. Little Wolf, on the other hand, was already looking quite serene.

Manras and Dil sat next to me. Rogan was scratching his head, examining the Black Dagger who was pouting and grimacing at his soaked clothes and muttering, oh, no, my watch, oh, no, what a disaster… I bit my lip, thinking: that Black Dagger who was Korther’s best friend and to whom I had sent a shock, betraying him… that very man had saved Little Wolf. He had lost a watch and some magara, he mumbled, and all to save Little Wolf!

Finally catching my gaze, Aberyl gave me a pout as if to say, “It’s okay, I’ll replace it all later”. And then he looked at me more attentively and smiled.

“All right, Draen. If I ask you now to follow me without question, will you do it?”

I did not hesitate. I nodded and said fervently:

“Yes.”

24 The Booby House

We returned to Estergat by cart. First, I had to explain to Aberyl why I had decided to flee, and my explanation—I popped Frashluc off—had left him first flabbergasted, then incredulous, then deeply annoyed, and finally he had thought it prudent to take us all to where they were hiding the vampire. He said, “No one must know that you are with us, or they will think that Korther sent you to kill him”. I hadn’t thought of such a possibility. And well, how could I have thought of that when I was convinced that the Black Daggers wanted to turn me into a spirit?

So I had unintentionally got my companions into trouble, preventing them from returning to Swift’s gang. Manras looked delighted: he had been immediately seduced when Aberyl had bought some sweets from a street vendor and offered them to us before we got into the cart. The two of them got along very well right away, and Manras besieged him with questions during the ride, such as: How did you learn to swim? And is it very difficult? How do you do it? Are you a nail-pincher? I mean, you’ve got a lot of nails, right? How do you do it?

At some point, he was about to say the word “Black Dagger,” and I gave him a smack on the head to shut him up.

“Shut your muzzle, shyur.”

He shut it for a few minutes while he stuffed himself with a fistful of sweets, and then he said:

“We have money too. It’s Sharpy who gives it to us. You know, he’s got this magic thing that…”

Wham. Another smack on the head. I glared at him.

“You’re pissing me off, demorjed,” I hissed at him.

Manras bit his lip, flinching, and remained silent for the rest of the journey. I saw a mocking glint in the Black Dagger’s eyes.

We went down to Riskel’s market, and from there, Aberyl led us to an arched street in the lower part of Tarmil, full of shops and taverns. We entered a building between two shops that were beginning to be bustling with shoppers and onlookers. No one gave us even a glance. As the door closed, the voices outside died away almost completely.

“Are we all here? Good,” Aberyl said, satisfied. “This way.”

We walked through the dark hallway and up the stairs. On the first floor landing we passed Yerris. The black half-gnome looked restless. He glanced curiously at the gwaks before giving me a quick smile of welcome and turning to Aberyl.

“Ab. There’s news.”

He said it in the tone of: there’s some pretty bad news. Aberyl snorted.

“I know. It’s about Frashluc, isn’t it?”

Yerris arched his eyebrows and cleared his throat.

“We don’t know they did it yet. How did you learn about it so quickly? Did Draen know that…?”

Aberyl had wrinkled his forehead. He interrupted him by raising a hand.

“Wait, you don’t know if they did what?” he inquired. “I think we’re talking about two different things.”

“Oh. I’m talking about the tunnel,” Yerris explained. “The flies got into The Crazy Nut.”

Aberyl straightened up as if he had been slapped.

“They discovered the tunnel? My tunnel?”

The Black Cat grimaced.

“By now… it’s likely. It’s already nine in the morning, and they got in at six. We blew up the tunnel to the new hostel, and I don’t think they will be able to find it. What a mess. Manshif is upstairs with his family. He’s pissed…! He says that Korther will have to pay him everything, papers, a new tavern and all. But, hey, if things had gone well, he, too, would have made a good profit. Anyway. For the moment, I haven’t heard from Korther. Like he doesn’t exist. Hey, Ab. Why did you bring all the group? Could it be they’re recruits?” he scoffed.

Aberyl blew out loudly several times.

“Devils, devils, devils.” He glanced at me and my companions and said, “Look, take these boys upstairs with Arik. You guys, don’t move from the room and don’t show your face at the windows, okay? This is serious. And you, Black Cat, get back downstairs right now.”

“It runs,” Yerris agreed. And he waved us on. “Up, shyurs!”

I followed him, deep in thought. So the flies had discovered the tunnel to the Underground. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought until now that building such a tunnel could be illegal. I understood that it was secret, but… Blasthell, you knew what the flies deemed acceptable or not. In any case, if it was Frashluc who had wanted to play a dirty trick on Korther, it was my fault since I had revealed to him that the entrance was at The Crazy Nut. Just thinking about it kept me from asking Yerris any questions. Anyway, the Black Cat was climbing the stairs four by four, and even he, talkative as he was, could not manage more than a “welcome to the Booby House!”, followed by a comment about the irritated voices behind a door on the third floor and a “this way, shyurs, don’t stay behind”. We soon reached the fourth floor, the top floor. There was a door. Yerris pulled back the bar blocking it and gave me an embarrassed smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, weighing the piece of wood that served as a bar. “It’s preventive measures, nothing more. Get in,” he invited us.

I glanced at him uneasily as I crossed the threshold. As a matter of fact, now that I thought that without me there would have been no problem with the tunnel, I was pretty sure that Korther must be anxious to wring my neck. And what better way to do it than to lock me in a room with a barred door?

But Aberyl had saved Little Wolf, I reminded myself. And I said to myself firmly: trust, Mor-eldal. For once, trust them.

And so I trusted them. I entered, followed by my cronies and a Priest that was clearly moving reluctantly. The room was quite large, but it was empty except for a carpet, a box with bowls and pots, and a straw mattress. The shutters of the two windows were half closed, and standing by one of those, alerted by the noise, was Arik. The vampire gasped in amazement as he recognized us.

“Draen?”

I smiled and stepped forward, cheerful.

“Ayo, comrade! I see you got caught,” I continued in Caeldric. “Don’t worry. They won’t do anything to you.”

Just then, the sound of Yerris replacing the bar was heard outside, and for a moment, I doubted and repeated to myself: trust, blasthell.

Arik uncovered his fangs when Little Wolf came running up to greet him; he ruffled his hair and pointed to the carpet as if to invite us to sit down.

“My house is your house,” he pronounced in Caeldric.

I smiled, amused, and we settled down. After I had more or less explained to him why I had fled from Frashluc’s domains and told him how Aberyl had saved Little Wolf, we decided that we had talked enough about complicated things and started playing cards. I taught my companions a few tricks to shuffle them, for I was the only one who had practised the lessons of Le Bor’s lady a little.

In the afternoon, Yerris returned to bring us bread and bottles of wine, and found us dozing and recovering the hours of sleep we had skipped the night before. Seeing him appear, I hastened to say to him:

“Hey, Black Cat, don’t run. What’s up?”

The semi-gnome shrugged, looking very busy.

“We don’t know much yet. How are you doing with him?”

He pointed discreetly at Arik with his chin. I rolled my eyes.

“Wind in my sails. He’s a comrade, Yerris, he’s not a monster. How long are we going to be locked up in here?”

Yerris shook his head.

“No idea. I don’t think Korther will give you much time until things settle down, shyur. But Aberyl asked me to tell you: just a little more patience and stay calm, I know how you are.” He smiled. “Well, I must be off, I’m in a hurry. You guys have enough here to get an army drunk. And, besides, it’s good wine! Don’t tell Manshif, I swiped it from him with his lady’s consent, for a good cause: that good tavern-keeper holds his drink well in general, but being so exalted as he is right now, it’s better for him not to bend the elbow. I’ll be back as soon as I can to bring you some food. Maybe tomorrow. Ayo and have fun with… your comrade,” he rasped, glancing nervously at the vampire. “Ayo,” he repeated.

He closed the door before I could think of saying anything to him. I heard him replace the bar. And the silence returned.

I sighed and lay back on the carpet. In spite of myself, my mind was working, wondering: if it were necessary, how could I get out of this room? Not through the window: it was too high and I had no rope. And to force that bar, I would have needed at least two mist hellhounds, or even an earth dragon. The walls were made of brick. That was a possible way out, but too visible…

Blasthell, Mor-eldal, I scolded myself. Why can’t you stop thinking about legging it every two seconds?

So, after eating, I lay down on my stomach, picked up the deck of cards, and proposed to my companions:

“How about a game of old-nails?”

* * *

The sound of the bar and the door opening woke me up in the middle of the night. It was my second night in this room of the Booby House. Yerris had not come in the morning. It had taken me hours to fall asleep because of hunger, and now that I had finally managed to do so, bang, people were coming. Was it the Black Cat? Despite a persistent headache that clouded my mind, my mouth watered just thinking about food.

There were whispers, and I blinked at the light. It was a harmonic light.

“Yuck, Spirits, it smells like a corpse in here,” a girl’s voice complained.

It was true: the day before, we had convinced Arik to give us a demonstration of his spitting. And it smelled bad, but so bad! We’d even had to open the window, and suffocated as we were, we had drunk more than we should have, hence the headache. The vampire, that bastard, had been laughing at us for a long time.

“Do you see anything?” a boy’s voice asked.

“Look out!” the girl whispered. “There might be someone there.”

“Locked up with a bar?” the boy replied, skeptically. “Don’t tell me that your father, too, locks up peop…?”

There was the sound of an empty bottle being dropped. I could feel my companions stirring, stretching, and wondering what was going on. Then the light grew brighter and not only could we see the faces of the two newcomers, but they could see us too, half sat up on the carpet and still dazed. I was stunned as I recognized our visitors, but maybe not as stunned as they were. It was Lowen and Zenira. The grandson of Frashluc and the daughter of Korther. At the time, I could only wonder what the hell was going on. Something was wrong, because it was night, and at night, nail-pincher’s children normally slept at home. But there they were, on the top floor of the Booby House.

Zenira let out a muffled scream of terror, and the light disappeared.

“Let’s get out of here!”

She pulled Lowen towards the exit, but he resisted.

“Wait, Zen! I think… I think I saw Draen.”

“Who?”

“Draen, the copper gwak. I’m sure I’ve seen him.”

“Nonsense, you probably just saw his spirit! Let’s get out of here, this place is scary and smells like death,” the girl urged him.

Rogan reacted before I did, throwing in a croak:

“I’m hungry!”

There was a brief silence. Then I said in a drawl:

“Please.”

And Manras echoed me in a pitiful voice. The response was swift: the two young nail-pinchers left in a hurry and put the bar back up so quickly that I did not even have time to think of getting up to try to prevent them from locking us in again. I let out a plaintive sigh as I rested my head on the carpet.

“Blasthell,” I muttered.

I went back to sleep almost immediately. The next morning, when I told my companions that I had dreamed that Zenira and Lowen had come in the middle of the night, Rogan exclaimed:

“Merciful spirits! So did I. Well, I don’t know who they were. They were like two spirits pretending to be my ancestors, I think…”

“Me too!” Manras interjected, excitedly. “Except they weren’t my ancestors, they were Taka and Le Bor.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Arik interjected in Caeldric. The vampire was the only one with a clear head, because he hadn’t tasted the wine: he didn’t need it, and besides, he said it made him gag.

I turned to him, both confused and puzzled.

“It wasn’t a dream?” I repeated. “You mean Zenira and Lowen did come, and Rogan and Taka’s ancestors and Le Bor too? No kidding,” I laughed.

“Two children came,” Arik declared. “I don’t know who they were.”

I frowned and massaged my temples. Damn. How hungry I was and how I wanted to drink water, pure water, not wine. With a grimace, I grabbed the neck of a bottle, uncorked it, and drank before passing it to Little Wolf for a moment. The little fellow did not seem to like the diet, and as soon as I took the bottle away from him, he began to bite the cork. Well! Did Aberyl intend to let him starve to death after saving him from the canal? A wave of frustration swept over me, and I took a deep breath and jumped to my feet.

“I’ve had enough,” I announced.

I walked to the door and began to bang my fist, first with one, then with both.

“We’re hungry!” I cried.

I repeated my lament several times and then changed it to threats:

“I’ll break the wall if you don’t open up! I’ll blow it up, I’ve got explosives! I’ll scream for help through the window! I can bellow like a dragon! The whole neighborhood will hear me! Somebody open up, blasthell! Open up right now!”

Nothing. Finally, I tired of pounding my aching left fist and returned to the carpet, defeated but angry. No sooner had I sat down than I stood up, pulling the nail out of the music necklace and preparing to break through the partition wall by the door. If the Black Daggers wanted Mor-eldal to stay put, they would have to feed him and his companions, blasthell!

I had already made a good mess when, perhaps an hour later, we heard the bar, and the door opened. As the hinges were on my side, I had time to quickly hide my nail before the newcomers poked their heads in.

It was Korther, followed by three other Black Daggers whom I did not recognize. All were armed and masked except Korther, who was dressed as a nail-pincher. His devilish eyes watched us as I backed away to join my companions. The elfocan’s gaze fell on me, then on the damage I’d done to the wall, and when his attention returned to me, I stared into the void in shame. Blasthell.

“And here is the assassin,” Korther commented.

He took a step towards me. I shuddered, but looked up, alert. Was he angry? His eyes sparkled with both amusement and lethal venom. He was pissed, I confirmed. But maybe not at me, right? I tried to defend myself.

“I didn’t kill him,” I said. “He popped off ’cause his ticker gave out. And he had a knife.”

“Oh, yeah?” Korther replied, stopping in front of me with a scoff. “A knife?” Immediately, he pulled out a dagger and pressed it against my throat. “Did he threaten you like that, lad? And you attacked him? You thought he was going to ‘pop you off’, didn’t you? Tell me, lad, are you going to attack me too?”

I looked back at him in horror, feeling the metal blade on my neck. My companions were, I think, more frightened than I was. I articulated:

“No, sir.”

“No,” Korther repeated.

He pressed a little more, and I thought, I deserve it, I am a traitor, let him pop me off, I am not going to do anything to stop him. I begged in a hoarse voice:

“Don’t kill my friends, please. Don’t kill them.”

The kap arched his eyebrows. And then he rolled his eyes. He withdrew his dagger as quickly as he had pulled it out.

“I’m not going to kill you. But I have to say, you have a knack for making my life difficult, lad. Frashluc’s death caught us at a bad time. His son, Darys, is a complete idiot. He thought you were an undercover assassin, lost his mind, and ordered me sequestered, but, guess what, he couldn’t find me, so he sequestered my daughter.”

Still recovering from my fright, I gasped in disbelief.

“Zenira? B-but that’s impossible. I saw her last night. She came in with Lowen, right here. They took off like hares because they thought we were ghosts or something. Blasthell. So it was all a dream?”

I shook my head in confusion. There was a murmur from behind the half-open door. Korther sighed loudly, putting a hand to his forehead.

“Spirits. We can’t even leave her alone for one night. Zenira! Haven’t I told you a thousand times not to eavesdrop?”

The girl appeared between the Black Daggers, red as a tomato. Lowen followed her, even more hesitant.

“Sorry, Pop,” she said in a small, innocent voice. “It’s just… there was a bar. We couldn’t imagine there were people inside. Why are you holding them prisoner here?”

She looked me up and down, looking uncomfortable. I was even more uncomfortable.

“Mmph. They’re safer locked in here than out there, my dear,” Korther assured. And he put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders, adding in a tone of gentle reprimand, “And you, you’d better be more careful… Lowen already saved you and Draen once. I think our little hero has given enough of himself for this week. And, now, it will be best if I send you back to the Elms before your classmates start wondering what happened to you.”

“Already?” Zenira protested. “But I haven’t done my homework!”

“You should have done it last night instead of snooping around and taking bars off doors,” the kap retorted. “Come on, hurry up or you’ll be late for school. Or should I send you a guide?”

The two little nail-pinchers sighed in disappointment, looked curiously at the five gwaks in the room again, and under Korther’s imperious eyes, they left.

As the sound of their footsteps died away, I frowned and dared to ask:

“Sir. What happened to the Black Cat? He said he’d bring us food and he didn’t come.”

Korther pouted.

“These two nights have been busy. Aberyl and Yerris were injured in a stupid fight with those of Frashluc. But they are alive and safe, rest assured. In two weeks, they’ll be fine. Slaryn, on the other hand, almost killed her kap,” he cleared his throat, while exchanging an amused look with his fellow Black Daggers. “Anyway, back to the matter at hand. If I came here…” He glanced curiously at the vampire before continuing, “It’s to give you a new job.”

This left me speechless. A job… for me? After all my betrayals? My heart filled with gratitude.

“Really? A job for me?”

“That’s right. And, this time, you can’t let me down.”

I looked at him, looked at my companions, at the other Black Daggers, and then back at Korther’s face; I was seething with curiosity.

“What should I do?” I asked.

Korther dropped his serious expression and a mocking smile stretched his lips.

“What you do best, lad: sing.”

25 Reward for a witness

Korther gave me no further explanation, and asked me to follow him down the stairs. After giving my companions a placating pout, I went out behind him. All that could be heard was the sound of boots on the stairs. When we reached the first floor, the kap whispered orders to his companions and pointed to an ajar door. I went in. It was a sort of office, relatively empty. A few moments later, Korther came in, alone. And he handed me a bottle.

“Swallow this at once, it will do you a lot of good.”

As I looked at him, puzzled, he insisted, impatient:

“Swallow.”

I accepted the bottle and brought it to my lips. I looked the kap in the eye and said to myself, Trust him, Mor-eldal, if he had wanted to kill you he could have stabbed you. I emptied the bottle. It tasted like the devil. I gagged and was about to give it all back, but Korther helped me to hold it in by handing me a glass of water. Water! I drank it all, avidly. Then I poured myself another drink from the pitcher. When I left the glass empty, I suddenly felt dizzy. I staggered and stumbled, and Korther helped me to the chair.

“All right. Don’t worry, the dizziness passes quickly,” he told me. “I guess you can already guess what it was. Some call it the anti-magic potion. It inhibited your energy stem almost completely, and in theory, now you should be unable to cast any kind of spell, and for a good while.” He glanced at my inanimate right hand and nodded to himself before smiling at me. “It seems that it works.”

I looked back at him in horror, then down at my still hand, and shakily squeezed it with my left. I felt absolutely nothing. Not even a bit of mortic energy. And Korther was still smiling, amused. He had left me helpless and crippled, and that damn man was smiling! I didn’t utter a word. If I had, I should probably have let out a loud “Go to hell, isturbag”. But I swallowed my bad mood. Korther sat on the other side of the desk and put his hands on it, twiddling his thumbs.

“You need not worry about your secret,” he declared. “The White Wolf would never dare tell anyone that his former kap had dealings with someone like you, and I convinced him that you had not been able to kill Frashluc with your magic. Darys, the son, does not know that you were there locked up under his roof, and anyway, the man has lost all support and will never undertake anything with his own hands. The grandson believes it was an accident, or so he told my daughter. In conclusion, no one is accusing you of anything, lad. Except the Black Daggers, perhaps.”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it. I swallowed. And I asked:

“Who’s the White Wolf?”

Korther cleared his throat, amused.

“Jarvik, the Albino, the White Wolf, Frashluc’s second in command. The new big kap of the Cats. He’s not a bad guy, and for that very reason, I don’t think he’ll get as much support as his predecessor. Anyway, we’ll see. Now, lad, you’re going to listen to what I’m about to say.”

He leaned over the table to bring his face close to mine, he assessed me with his eyes, and finally he said briskly:

“Draen Hilemplert, Ashig Malaxalra, Mor-eldal, or whatever you want me to call you: I’m fed up with you. No sooner do you do something praiseworthy than the next day—no, rather, the next minute— you make me want to break my vows as a peaceful thief and send you to hell.” There was a terrible silence. “And, yet,” he resumed, “you’re a good student, you’re not a bad boy, your intentions are always good, I think you’re just an impulsive. And impulsive people never make good thieves. Therefore, I advise you to give up the profession and hand over that magic key the vampire gave you.”

He held out a hand, indicating to me that what he was demanding more than advising. I moistened my lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

Korther smashed his fist against the table, and I flinched slightly, but I did not take my eyes off his elfocan face.

“That’s the kind of reaction that infuriates me about you, lad,” he hissed at me. “Among other things.”

I gritted my teeth.

“I know you have that magara, and I could take it away by force,” Korther pointed out to me.

I glared at him. I felt hurt by his words and, at the same time, sad, irritated, and with an incomprehensible desire that Korther should be angry with me.

“Well, do it, then. C’mon. Search me. See if you can find it,” I challenged him.

Korther did not hesitate. He got up, went to the door, and asked another Black Dagger to search me. Because he was obviously too much of a nail-pincher to stoop to such tasks. I saw him arch his eyebrows when he discovered the nearly fifteen siatos I had, he remained unmoved when he saw the rodaria twig, and he nodded when the Black Dagger tried to take the collars off me and I backed away.

“You asked for it, lad.”

And he made a gesture. The Black Dagger grabbed me, and with a useless hand, I could do nothing but let my pendants be stolen.

“Thank you, Devon. You can leave,” Korther gestured to his companion.

The Black Dagger left, commenting only:

“Nice amount of money.”

When the door closed and we were left alone again, Korther examined Azlaria’s amulet curiously, then the music necklace. He raised an index finger and smiled.

“Ah.”

He shook the pipes of the little flute and finally discovered the nail. Along with Arik’s magic key. I had kept quiet and stuck to the wall, but I reacted when he touched the key. I protested:

“Arik gave it to me. It’s mine.”

Korther did not answer. He walked around the desk, returned to his seat, and concentrated on examining both the wand and Azlaria’s amulet. The silence continued. The kap seemed to have forgotten the job he wanted to give me. He wasn’t going to steal Azlaria’s amulet too, was he? Because if he did that, if he did that… If he did, then what? I couldn’t do anything. I was just a damned impulsive gwak assassin, nothing more.

My stomach hurt so much that I had to sit down on the floor and bury my face between my knees, stifling my sorrow. I sat there for a long time, almost completely silent. Korther said nothing to me. He must have been fed up with my whining, too. Surely he was more interested in the magaras he was examining than in this weeping copper creature huddled in the corner of the room.

And yet, I thought, yet he had thought I could do a job for him.

After another silence, during which I calmed down, I wiped my eyes and looked up to see Korther still very focused on Azlaria’s amulet. I got up and sat down on the chair in front of him before saying:

“My master gave it to me.”

Korther opened his eyes, looked at me and smiled slightly.

“And I suppose it’s yours too, then.”

I held his gaze but did not answer. Korther pouted thoughtfully and handed me Azlaria’s amulet, the music necklace, and the other necklaces: the ferilompard bone necklace and the one I’d made from a simple rope and hazelnut shells. After a moment’s hesitation, I put them all back on. I did not reach for the magic key or the iron nail. I didn’t dare. Nor did I reach for the small mound of coins I had pinched from the clothing store. I did, however, retrieve my rodaria twig, and though it was already very chewy, I stuck one end in my mouth to chew it two or three times before I felt the hunger subside a little. Then I put the twig away and said:

“I am ragingly sorry, Korther. I want to help you. I swear it’s true. I nabbed the Solance. And I did it well, didn’t I? All you have to do is tell me what to do. And I’ll do it right.”

I fell silent as Korther shook his head.

“No, lad. You’ve gone too far. And I don’t think this life of thievery suits you. You’d end up dead before your time. And that would be a shame.”

I looked down to hide my disappointment. The life of a thief didn’t suit me? Well, what kind of life suited me then? The life of being locked up in a youth centre for years far from my comrades? In that case, I would rather leave Estergat with my cronies, Little Wolf, and Rogan, and we would go far away, I don’t know, to Veliria, to Kitra, to the valley, to the Communities of Eshingra to see my master, to sail on the ocean!

Korther interrupted my inner outburst.

“However, I’m still going to give you one last job, lad.”

I looked up attentively, as if to say: I will do anything to prove to you that I am not a traitor. Well, I was a traitor, but I wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t a malicious traitor. Uh, was there such a thing as a benevolent traitor? Gosh, well, what did I know…

Korther interrupted my thoughts again by saying:

“In two hours, at one o’clock in the afternoon, a man dressed in red, with the uniform of the National Guard, will come out of the Capitol. You will go with him and follow him wherever he leads you. He will take you into a room where you will meet one or more gentlemen, or ladies,” he observed. “And you shall tell them this, lad: I have seen an earth dragon. Do you think you are capable of doing that?”

I frowned at his slightly mocking look.

“Natural,” I said. “But…what do I have to steal?”

Korther rolled his eyes.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. If you steal anything, I’ll order you to have your hand cut off, lad. The right one. The only thing you have to do is tell them that it was the earth dragon that actually opened the tunnel to the Underground. Not the Black Daggers. Not the ones in Yadibia. The earth dragon. It sounds stupid like that, but it’s important. They’ll ask you questions about what you saw, and you’ll tell them. If they’re smart enough, they won’t ask you about the Black Daggers. If they do, you say you know nothing. And, certainly, I bet a thousand siatos that they know more than you. So? Are you willing to do it?”

I found the work both disappointing and worrying. Disappointing because, blasthell, I was hoping to have the opportunity to prove to Korther that I was capable of being a good Black Dagger. And bam, he gave me a simple job as a witness and messenger. Blasthell. I nodded.

“Yes,” I said cheerfully. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Korther smiled.

“Yet you’re the only one who can do it, considering you’re the only one who’s seen that dragon. And, thanks to you, Arkolda and Yadibia may be starting diplomatic relations on the right foot,” he announced as he stood up. “All thanks to the testimony of a Survivor. Does the job looks nicer now? I’ve given you a meeting with the most influential people in Estergat, lad. Me aside.”

His words and joking expression brought a smile to my face. I stood up too.

“I’ll tell them everything I know about the dragon. Word of a gwak Cat.”

Korther nodded, satisfied, and then he frowned.

“Fine, but don’t tell any lies to those ‘nail-pinchers’ just to show off, eh?”

I pouted as if he had just caught me red-handed.

“No, sir. Ah, sir.”

“What?”

“Can I…? I mean, my comrades are free to go, right? And Arik too?”

Korther seemed to think about it for a bit before saying:

“That vampire… shouldn’t stay in Estergat. But, whatever he does, he will need help. And I’m prepared to offer him some. Tell him that. Tell him that he is free. But that, if he wishes, he may stay here.”

I opened my eyes wide, stunned.

“You want to make him a Black Dagger?”

I tried to swallow my jealousy, to no avail. Why on earth was Arik going to be able to be a Black Dagger and not me? Korther looked at me with some mockery.

“It is a proposal, nothing more. On the other hand, I recommend that you leave your master’s collar with one of your friends before you go to the Capitol. There, they will search you for sure. And I, if I were you, would also leave the rodaria. It wouldn’t give, uh, a good impression. Besides, you’d better quit it forever.”

I nodded and looked apologetic.

“It’s ’cause sometimes hunger strikes.”

Korther smiled, perhaps because of the way I complained. He took several coins and handed them to me.

“I guess that will solve the problem. I’m not giving you the rest, because if it’s to spend it on rodaria, it’s not worth it. Maybe you want me to give you another piece of advice before you go away forever, lad.”

The “forever” caused me a deep unease, and I looked at him as if the Black Dagger kap was abandoning me in the middle of an unknown wood.

“What advice?” I asked, very attentively.

Korther stopped in front of me, glanced at my still useless hand, and said:

“Think before you act. It will save you a lot of trouble.”

He gestured quietly to the door, inviting me out. I took a few steps towards it, embarrassed, frantically searching for an answer. Finally, I answered:

“My master used to tell me that too. But it doesn’t work.”

Korther smiled, and his devilish eyes sparkled.

“Advice doesn’t work by itself if you don’t take it, lad. Good luck and don’t come back.”

Damn. I had said a slugbonery. Was I going to go away like that, leaving him with an image of a scaluftardy gwak? I was already reaching for the door handle when I turned back and said:

“Sir, do you like music?”

Korther blinked in surprise.

“Who doesn’t?” he replied.

I bit my lip, hopeful.

“Right. Then, let me tell you. If you want me to sing something, one day, whenever you want, well, I’ll come and sing it for you. People say I’m good at bawling. It’s the only thing I know how to do. I know a lot of songs. I’ve even impressed Yarras, and believe me, that guy knows a lot of songs because he’s always lazing around…”

I fell silent. Korther had put his hands in his pockets, highly amused.

“I’ll think about it, lad,” he assured. “You should become a carnival jester, you know? No offense meant. And, now, run along and don’t forget: one o’clock, in front of the Capitol. So you don’t get there late, Devon will lead you there.”

He opened the door himself and said:

“By the way, the cloak. Take it off. It’s Lowen’s, and it has his initials on it. I don’t want that boy to get into any more trouble because of you. And now go and go get your friends—Devon! Make sure he doesn’t miss the meeting.”

The Black Dagger guarding the door nodded, and I hurried away up the stairs, anxious to free my companions from that cursed room. As I reached the third floor, I heard Korther’s voice talking downstairs with Devon. I sighed, convinced that Korther thought I was an isturbagged gwak. Well, at least he had acknowledged that what I had done was with good intentions. That was something.

But I couldn’t help feeling sad that I had been expelled from the Brotherhood. I sighed again, shrugged my shoulders, and thought that one could not have many kaps, and that I had enough with Swift. So I withdrew the bar with my left hand, opened the door, and cheerfully proclaimed:

“Comrades, we’re free!”

* * *

Korther was right: they didn’t let me in to see the gentlemen and ladies of the meeting without searching me thoroughly first. Still, when they saw me appear in the luxurious room, the nail-pinchers couldn’t avoid making mocking comments. “A kid? The Black Daggers are sending us a kid as a witness? Admirable!” one said. “What effrontery!” said another. And damn, I had told Korther that my job would be a piece of cake, but now it didn’t seem so. Not in the face of the ten or so nail-pinchers who were watching me, some with irritated disappointment, others with mockery, others with mercy. A lady in a big red dress with a very pretty face came up and held out her hand. I stiffened, frightened, but she only touched my cheek gently.

“Kid. You came to tell us something, didn’t you?”

I felt an energy vibration, and I flinched. A magician. Hell, she was a magician! Well, of course, I thought. I knew her. She was the Supreme Magician of the Conservatory. I’d seen her more than once walking the halls of that great bastion as I wandered aimlessly or delivered messages from Miroki Fal. I looked into her eyes—black eyes that troubled me almost as much as the Blue One—and nodded. My heart was beating wildly. My instincts were telling me: run, leg it, those powerful nail-pinchers in front of you are gonna crush you!

But I had given my word to Korther. So I took a deep breath and said:

“I saw an earth dragon. It opened the tunnel to the Underground.”

My statement generated a wave of comments. Now no one was paying any attention to me. No, they were. The Supreme Magician was still looking at me. She raised her hand again, and I tried not to back away. She touched my forehead, and I felt energy. Brejic energy? Likely.

“Tell us more about this dragon,” she ordered me.

At once, the conversation died down, and the eyes returned to me. I tried to calm myself, swallowed, and said:

“It came in when I was snoozing at the bottom of the tunnel. Everything started moving, and rocks were falling. My lantern broke, and I nearly popped off. And that’s when I saw it.”

“The dragon? And what did he do?” the magician encouraged me.

“He opened his mouth and he picked up a rock, and then he closed his jaws and he gobbled it,” I related. “And then he left.”

“When did this happen?”

I calculated and said:

“A moon ago.”

In fact, it had been exactly one moon: we were already on the fourth Kindday of the Straw Moon.

“How did you see the dragon if the lantern had broken?” another nail-pincher questioned.

I frowned. Oh, dear. That’s right, how had I seen it? Then, thanks spirits, I remembered.

“Bugs,” I explained. “He had a bunch of light bugs on his scales. They were yellow. The scales were. Well, yellow but all full of dirt. And it stank, but terrible, like the ash falling from the sky, only worse.” I fell silent and looked at the magician, worried, “I don’t know any more.”

I could still feel her cold hand on my forehead. Now I was almost comforted by it, because I thought to myself: the Celmist knows a spell to find out if I’m telling the truth, so she’ll see that I’m not lying. Well, I wasn’t sure: I still remembered how Frashluc had tricked me with his amulet of truth. But… now I wasn’t standing in front of Frashluc, I was standing in front of none other than Arkolda’s Supreme Magician.

“And which way did he go?” a voice asked. “Up or down?”

I looked for the person who had spoken, and could not find him, but still I made an I-don’t-know pout.

“To… to the right. I think. I don’t know. When he moved, afterwards, I couldn’t see him.”

“Didn’t you go to see?” another asked, surprised.

“See?” I repeated. “No. I couldn’t see anything. The rocks fell on me. I got stuck. The ancestors helped me, or I would have been buried forever.”

“The Black Daggers, you mean,” said another with a clearing of the throat; a deputy, I think—I had already seen his face in the papers.

I looked back at him as if to say: I won’t answer that. I saw him sigh and approach with his stick, saying:

“According to the note that this… Korther passed us, you don’t belong to the brotherhood. Is that true?”

I pressed my lips together. Blasthell. I shook my head.

“You don’t belong to the brotherhood,” the deputy insisted.

“No, sir,” I confirmed at last with a certain melancholy.

“Mm. So what were you doing in that tunnel?” I remained silent. He resumed, “Why is it that Korther absolutely does not want us to accuse those in Yadibia of opening a tunnel to the Underground in the middle of the city?”

He almost seemed to ask this question more of the others than of me. However, this time, I broke the silence by saying:

“It was the dragon who opened the tunnel. He’s the one who opened it for real.”

The deputy exchanged a glance with the Supreme Magician and nodded.

“I believe you. Though it’s not particularly reassuring to think we have earth dragons under the Rock.” Several present commented in turn. The deputy played with his staff for a moment before turning his attention back to me and asking, “Tell me, do you have parents, son?”

“I don’t,” I replied. And I shuddered as I felt a slight energy discharge. I looked at the sorceress with fear. Devils, blasthell. Was it so obvious that I was lying? I corrected with a sigh, “I do.”

“Mm. Are they Black Daggers?”

I couldn’t help but snort.

“No.”

The nail-pincher consulted the Supreme Magician again before making a curt gesture with his head.

“We thank you for your testimony, young man. I assume you understand that we have to put you under surveillance for a while until your parents come to pick you up. You don’t have to worry: it’s just a routine measure. Please, guards, take him away and notify his family,” the nail-pincher ordered.

As the sorceress stepped aside and a guard grabbed my arm, I could not contain a low:

“Blasthell.”

So this is how they rewarded my testimony? By throwing me in the hole? Good mother. I followed the fly to the exit, thinking: there you are, Mor-eldal, Korther has sent you to prison. He did it on purpose. He knew. He knew the nail-pinchers wouldn’t let me go like that.

“Blasthell,” I repeated, higher.

I received a frown from one of the flies that guided me through the corridors, and I gave him an incensed pout, repeating in a bad mood:

“Blasthell.”

“Will you shut up, you foulmouthed brat?” the fly snorted.

He gave me a smack on the head when he saw that I was looking at him defiantly, and he dragged me out of the Capitol to the central police station cell. I was just beginning to be able to move my right hand a little: I was in no condition to leg it with two flies each clutching an arm. So I arrived at the hole safe and sound. It turned out that one of the flies at the police station recognized me and identified me as Draen Hilemplert. I confirmed between my teeth. And they put me in the cell. And how surprised I was when, saying ayo to my new and numerous company—apparently there had been protests and large arrests—I saw a young gwak with an extremely familiar face sitting on the back bench. We looked at each other with widened eyes.

“Diver?” I murmured in amazement.

“Good mother,” he gasped, rising slowly to his feet. “Good mother, Sharpy, but I thought they killed you!”

26 The Nail-pincher’s Project

While the occupants of the cell talked as if in a madhouse about I don’t know what social problems, Diver and I, huddled in a corner, whispered the news to each other. Thus I learned that when Frashluc had locked me up in his house, Diver had thought I had been killed, he had run away and, disgusted with life—and encouraged by the karuja—he had ended up throwing himself off Moralion Bridge. Except that the flies had rescued him from the river, so he had sung and told them: the man who lives in the house at this address is a murderer. But they had not even listened to him: they had imprisoned him, recognizing him as a thief on the run, period. And he had been in the cell for three days. He didn’t even know that Frashluc was dead. I was the one who told him, without mentioning my role in the affair, and Diver remained silent for a long time before spitting out:

“May he rot in hell.”

My friend was livid. I still couldn’t believe that Diver had been isturbagged enough to throw himself off the bridge. Good mother, he really needed a little support. So I said to him:

“Hey, comrade. Don’t you worry. If they make you a lifer, I’ll get you out of Carnation.”

Diver merely gave a slight skeptical pout. His lack of confidence hurt me, and I shook his knee.

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I do, but you’re not gonna do it, ’cause I don’t want to,” he replied.

I blinked in amazement.

“You don’t want to? You don’t want to get out of jail?”

“That’s right. And, besides, from what you’ve told me, those nail-pinchers you’ve seen, Sharpy, they sure as hell aren’t letting you out, either. We’ll both end up at Carnation until our bones rot. Wanna bet?”

He looked at me questioningly. His words darkened me, and I huffed, putting my head against the wall.

“Isturbag,” I sighed.

I met the eyes of a well-dressed young man sitting next to us and said no more.

The protesters in the cell continued to talk. They were talking about poverty, taxes, the right to life… As I heard all that, I listened with interest.

“… right to live, every single being!” a blonde human said in a fervent voice. “The rich, the poor, the crippled, the sick, the dogs, the cats, even the ants!”

“What about the gwaks?” I interjected loudly.

I suddenly felt eyes turn to me, and I regretted opening my mouth. Since when did I bother talking to these students from good families? But the blonde said:

“The same goes for them, of course! All children have the right to live and all adults have the obligation to give them food, education, teach them all about virtue, and offer them a place to sleep. Is this what is being done now? No! We have here the proof, companions.”

She was pointing at me and Diver. I felt cornered by so much attention.

“If they had been guaranteed a minimum of welfare, these poor children would not be here, in a cell. They would be studying, training to blossom and be able to create a future for themselves! But, as things are, what future awaits them now, can you tell me?”

His companions expressed their agreement in many phrases and gestures. Their voices filled the whole cell, but the flies in the room did not seem to pay any attention to them. Diver whispered to me:

“What future awaits us? Being lifers.”

I rolled my eyes and pushed him, snorting.

“Come on, don’t be a downer. Lifers, you say, what the blasthell, lifers. I’ll get you out of here for sure. Didn’t you hear what the blonde just said? You need to study and grow. And at Carnation, you rip your hands making ropes while others push you around, drive you crazy, make fun of you, and in the end, you decide not to think and become an idiot. Ain’t that right? Well, then. Let’s fight, comrade. You’ll see, I know a lot about escaping.”

Diver shrugged his shoulders and did not answer. His apathy was pissing me off. Okay, he hadn’t had karuja for three days, so he was in a foul mood, and I understood that, but still… cheer up a little, devils!

The hours passed, and so did the afternoon and night. My right hand recovered completely, but my energy stem was still in bad shape. The students were not released until mid-morning with various fines or lectures. The student who had been sitting next to us glanced at us as he stood up, hesitated, and took something out of his pocket. He handed it to me and said, “Here”. I accepted it, surprised. It was a chocolate bar. As the student left the cell, I shook Diver and gave him the entire treat.

“Dig in, see if you can shut up a little.”

Diver had not opened his mouth for several hours. He glanced at me mockingly, bit into the chocolate, took half, and handed me the rest.

“Well then,” I agreed.

The chocolate was delicious. Even better than old Bayl’s. So much talk and so much revolution was all very well, but in the end, the only student or so who hadn’t opened his mouth was also the only one who had fed the gwaks. Talk was all very well, but you couldn’t eat pretty words.

The cell was now quiet. Apart from us, there were only two Northerners left who had no money to pay the fine and who did not understand Drionsan very well. So everything was pretty quiet, and my parents still did not show up. I wasn’t worried. They had certainly refused to come and get me out of there. It was understandable. In the end, what did they owe me? Nothing. The barber had wanted to send me to the youth centre; I had run away; and, so to speak, I was an orphan again. Therefore, the flies would condemn me for vagrancy to a moon in prison, and after that, hop, skip, and jump to the poorhouse. All in all, nothing to worry about. Except that it could well be at least one moon before they sentenced me. That meant I wouldn’t get out until summer. All because Korther had asked me to tell the nail-pinchers about that bloody dragon. And to make matters worse, I didn’t even have Azlaria’s amulet to console me a little with its presence.

Suddenly, I gave Diver a shove.

“You’re giving me your bad mood,” I growled. “Speak, say something. Wanna play morra?”

My friend sighed and did not answer. I gave him another push, snorting. Nothing. Not a word. I got pissed off. I grabbed him and shook him.

“Go blow yourself up, Diver, you’re duller than a rock! Wake up!”

Finally, he answered me with an exasperated push. I gave it back to him. He gave it back to me. And we ended up rolling around in the cell, pulling each other by the clothes and kicking each other. It was a joy for me, because at last I could see my friend reacting a little. The flies did not pay much attention to us, but the Nordics intervened to separate us. And how could we do otherwise than give in to these two giants. We calmed down, they let us go, and we sat down on the same bench to play morra, reconciled. I think that the Nordics did not understand.

And, well, there we were, making just a little noise playing, when Diver fixed his gaze on the bars, and, fearing that his spirits might fail again, I passed my hand, all five fingers outstretched, before his eyes and said:

“Oh, oh, Diver! I said five and I win: your fist’s clenched. Hey! What are you looking at?”

However, when I followed his gaze, I gasped with surprise. There, standing before the bars, was a nail-pincher. A young elf nail-pincher, who gave me a very strange feeling all over my body and left my heart racing. I knew him. Devils, yes, I knew him. I rose slowly from the bench, mouth agape, and stammered:

“S-Sir?”

It was Miroki Fal. I couldn’t believe it!

“It’s me,” the Nail-pincher confirmed, as fascinated as I was.

“I never forget a face I paint,” said the other nail-pinched elf who accompanied him. His face looked familiar too. Could it be that I had seen him the day before, at the Capitol? Of course I did! It was Shudi Fiedman, the painter and friend of the Nail-pincher, the one who had painted my portrait last year because he said that painting a poor child was an original idea in these times.

Then Miroki Fal turned, and I thought, dejected: oh, no, blasthell, he’s leaving. But he only thundered:

“Please, agent! Get him out of here for a moment. I’d like to talk to him without these bars.”

The flies listened to him at once, and under the hallucinated gaze of Diver, I left the cell. I thought: do I throw myself on the Nail-pincher and hug him? Maybe this would make him feel sorry for me and save me from prison. But a strange shyness prevented me from acting with such confidence, and it was he who had to come closer to observe me.

“Hello, boy,” he smiled at me. “You’ve grown.”

His inquisitive smile gave me a hopeful smile. And since I wasn’t sure what to ask him except that he not go away, I just stood there looking at him with a questioning face. If he had come to visit me, it wasn’t just to see if I was still alive, was it? He’d come to help me, hadn’t he? Miroki Fal paused briefly before resuming:

“You’ll be out of here soon, don’t worry. Your parents told me a little about your problems. And I thought of a solution.”

His last words changed my expression, and so that the Nail-pincher would not guess my alarm, I lowered my eyes to the ground. Devils. So, Miroki Fal had talked to my parents! Surely they had told him everything they knew about me. Too much for Miroki Fal to see me as a candid, innocent child. I asked:

“What solution?”

Miroki Fal glanced at Shudi before stating serenely:

“I am funding an educational project and have decided to launch a charity campaign to create a modern residence for children like you. You’ll have a roof over your head, food to eat, and we’ll educate you. What do you say? Your parents have agreed to sign you up for it. I’ve left them a sum of money in gratitude for your services. You can use it when you come of age. In the meantime, you’ll want for nothing.”

“As long as you behave yourself,” Shudi observed, mockingly. And, addressing his friend, he added in a low voice, “You and your plans—your father will end up turning off the tap.”

“Let him do it,” Miroki replied. “Strictly speaking, it’s my money, anyway.”

“By law, it will be when you are twenty-five,” the painter scoffed.

I looked at each of them in turn, dumbfounded. The Nail-pincher had given money… to me? And he wanted to send me to a school?

“Children like me?” I said then. “Gwaks, sir? Is this a house for gwaks? Is there such a thing?”

Miroki smiled.

“Now, there is.”

I didn’t know whether to be happy or scared by the idea.

“Is it a prison?” I asked.

Miroki Fal pouted.

“No,” he assured. “But there are standards to meet. You won’t be able to go out as you please.”

My apprehension and distrust must have shown on my face because I saw him frown, embarrassed.

“I assure you, this is the best that could happen to you.” He paused as if waiting for me to say something, to thank him perhaps? Then he added, “I will visit the place in a few weeks. I promise you that. Until then, I hope you will honor my trust and encourage other helpless children to be a part of this project. Goodbye.”

I saw him walk away, and I reacted by leaping forward and blocking his path.

“Sir! This gwak, see him? The one in the cell. That gwak is a friend of mine. They want to lock him up for life, but he doesn’t deserve it. Can you do something for him? Please.”

Miroki Fal looked at Diver, sitting on the bench, cleared his throat, and said:

“I’ll do everything I can, kid. But I can’t promise you anything.”

I swallowed under his gaze, which seemed to tell me: you saved my life, but, hey, be content with what I give you, don’t be a beggar. Ha! Well, there were no bigger beggars than gwaks, but a good gwak knew when to ask and when to leave in peace. So I nodded and stepped aside, saying:

“Thank you, sir. Say, you’re getting married, aren’t you?”

This time, the Nail-pincher smiled with complete sincerity.

“Yes. Miss Lesabeth and I are getting married.”

I smiled broadly.

“I knew it!”

The two of them exchanged slight smiles, and as they strolled out of the station, the flies put me back in the cell.

A residence for gwaks, I sighed, sitting back down on the bench. Gosh. It looked a lot like the youth centre. And I was already imagining myself locked in a room full of bars, my left hand bloody from the tarred hemp ropes…

As I told Diver about this nail-pincher who had just visited me and gave him hope, the apprehension grew stronger and stronger.

“Do you think this nail-pincher is going to send me to a prison?” I whispered to Diver.

My friend huffed, shrugging his shoulders as if nothing impressed him or bothered him anymore.

“Bah. It’s possible. But he didn’t lie to you: you’ll have a roof over your head, food to eat, and education. Clear soups. Prayers on Sacredday and some educational beating…” He laughed as I gave him a shove of protest. “What’s the matter, Sharpy? Don’t get upset. If you yourself say you’re the king of escapes, then you’ll have no trouble getting away, right?”

He was laughing at me. I glared at him. And I said:

“Don’t get on my bones.”

Diver smiled, shaking his head. He seemed to see life from a distance, and that frightened me. At that moment, I don’t know why, I saw him in my mind’s eye sticking the dagger into the Black Hawk’s neck and… I let out a long, exhausted sigh. These poor children, the blonde student had said. Yes, those poor murderous children! And yet those who had died through our fault had been miserable criminal scoundrels. But I did not feel any less dirty. I had had enough of this gwak life, the dangers, hunger, forsakenness. The more I thought, the more I realized that my aspirations to find a better life would never cease to be anything but dreams. So if the Nail-pincher offered to pull me out of the abyss, was I going to give him the slip? No way. No. I’d take the whole gwakery to that residence and there we’d become honest—and even educated—gwaks. And if the Nail-pincher dared to trick me… I’d just leg it and leave Arkolda.

With this firm decision in mind, I threw to Diver with enthusiasm:

“Can you believe it? We’re gonna become nail-pincher gwaks!”

* * *

I was not taken out of prison as quickly as I thought. First, a fly wanted to ask me another time about the dragon’s story, and he tried to get information from me about the Black Daggers. His attempts were in vain, even after he offered me some treats. If they had been clever, they would have given me some passwhite or celestial radrasia, and then who knows what I would have sung. But nothing, to my great surprise, they didn’t even slap me. The worrying thing was that when I returned to the cell, I did not see Diver. I asked after him, but there was no answer, and my morale, already low after the interrogation, took a hit.

The sky was already darkening when a fly approached the cell with a firm gait and called:

“Ashig Malaxalra!”

I sat still. Ashig Malaxalra? Says who?

“Hey, you, kid, come closer,” the fly insisted.

I sighed, walked over, the gate opened, and I stepped out. Was it for another interrogation?

Exhausted with sleep, my eyes did not immediately see the figure standing by the door, looking as if he were waiting for something. I blinked. The fly pushed me neither sharply nor gently towards the exit, my heart swelled with hope, and I asked:

“Am I free?”

Then I recognized the figure, and my heart sank at the barber’s gaze. I stopped in front of him, at a distance. My father said a “thank you,” to the fly, stepped forward, and put his hand on my neck to lead me out without a word. It had been… how long? Two moons since I had seen him? His expression seemed less terrible than I remembered.

Outside, the sky, already clear of ash, was turning red in the evening. A north wind was blowing, and it was not especially warm. I shivered in a gust, and when my father stopped, I did too. Where was he taking me? To the shop? To my surprise, the barber called a coachman and said:

“To Mill Prison, please.”

My blood ran cold through my veins. Had he said “Mill Prison”? I stiffened, and the barber had to literally lift me into the air to get me into the cart. I did not resist, but I did not make it easy for him either. As the coachman drove the horse forward, I sat looking up at the sky, watching as it turned darker and darker blue. I remembered a sunset I had watched with my master long ago. How beautiful it had been, and how serene I had felt then! That past half moon, I had barely been able to see the sky, spending my time cleaning tunnels, teaching necromancy, rotting in jail… And now my father was sending me to Mill Prison to continue to rot. My eyes filled with tears. I held them back. And I told myself that, in the end, Diver was right: it was better to laugh at the miserable fate of the gwaks.

We were already walking down Tarmil Avenue when my father broke the silence.

“Boy. I wanted to thank you for what you did for Sarova. Your brother didn’t tell us everything, I’m afraid, but I can guess.”

He paused. I gave him a skeptical pout. Really? He could guess? Several unpleasant lines came to mind, and I thought: better shut up. The barber was watching me carefully. And suspiciously. He didn’t trust me. Maybe he thought I was going to leg it. And, really, why not? Strangely enough, they hadn’t sent any flies to watch me. Only the barber. All I had to do was to give him a mortic shock, jump down from the cart, and run away. Easy, wasn’t it?

“I only want you well,” my father resumed in a low, deep voice. “You can’t live at the shop just yet. You must learn to behave. To give up bad habits. To be a good boy, eh? Trust me once and for all, son. Or you’ll end up very bad.”

His words left me confused, ashamed, and incredulous. That he wanted me well. Okay, it runs: he was sending me to prison. It was the best place for me. I accepted it. I was not a good boy. I accepted that, too. And that I trusted the barber… I wanted to accept that, but I just couldn’t. I wanted to burst. I wanted to say to my father: I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you tell me… But that stage had already passed, and I hadn’t kept my word. The barber, therefore, as a father, had every right to put me in prison for being a bad son. But, then, the house of gwaks promised by Miroki Fal, where had it gone? Had I been lied to? Had it been only a bad joke? It didn’t make sense, but at that moment, nothing made sense.

I fumbled in my pocket for my rodaria twig. I couldn’t find it. Of course, I had given it to Rogan to keep for me. Same with Azlaria’s amulet. So I crossed my arms, trying to calm myself and hide my nervousness.

The barber said nothing more. Maybe he was waiting for a reaction from me. I spent the rest of the way, motionless, staring into space and with a drowned heart.

Mill Prison was on an island between a canal and the Estergat River. We crossed a small bridge and were coming up to the infamous stone building already shrouded in the shadows of the night when I broke the silence and said:

“Is it true that Miroki Fal gave me money?”

I drew the barber out of his deep thoughts, I think, because I saw him startle slightly.

“Yes,” he said at last. “He told us that you saved his life. He was generous. Rest assured, we will only use that money for you.”

I pouted and shook my head sharply.

“No. It’s yours. I don’t want it. Give it to Samfen. He wants to be a ceramist. I want to die.”

For a second, the barber did not react. Then he grabbed me violently by the arm.

“Idiot. Do you even realize what you’re saying? You have two arms, two legs, you weren’t born a fool, and you want to die? Are you saying that so I’ll slap you? Is that what you want?”

“Yes!” I replied sharply.

I received the slap. Then the coachman cleared his throat.

“Mill Prison, sir,” he announced.

The barber glared at me for a moment before grabbing me and pulling me out of the cart. He paid the coachman without letting me go. I stood tense, as if preparing for a beating, but when the carriage pulled away the barber did not continue his lecture. He led me straight to the lighted door of Mill Prison, saying,

“I’m fed up with you, boy. Fed up.”

Just like Korther, I thought. Apparently, everyone was fed up with me, except for my companions. They liked me. They were the only ones who liked me. And yet, in spite of my desire to leg it, I followed my father to the prison. We came to the lighted door, and the barber went by without stopping. I was stunned. Was he leading me to another entrance?

Well, it did not seem so, for at that moment, we crossed the street. My confusion grew and grew until, after crossing a dark square by the river, the barber stopped at last in front of one of the buildings on the bank, turned his head as if to orient himself, and then finally nodded to himself, and we entered a shadowy courtyard. As if called, two figures emerged from a doorway and waved.

“Good evening, Mister… Malaxalra, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” my father confirmed.

“And this one is young Ashig, I suppose? Excellent. We thank you for bringing him, sir, and we thank you for your trust. We will take good care of him as we do of all the children in this institution.”

An unfamiliar hand took me by the shoulder, gently but firmly.

“This way, young man.”

I took a deep breath as I followed my new guide and supervisor. I turned my head toward my father. But in the night shadows, I could not see his face. Perhaps he was wondering: where will this boy be in a year, or shall I say, a moon, a week? I sighed. Even I could not answer such a question.

“Wait!” the barber said suddenly. “Wait. Ashig. Tell me. I know your birthday is still two moons away, but… would you like me to bring you something? Something reasonable.”

I was moved by the proposal. A gift! The barber wanted to give me a gift! It seemed to take me so long to answer that I feared the barber would leave without my answer, and finally I said fervently:

“A ball! A ball that bounces. Is that okay?” I asked, fearing it was unreasonable.

I thought I could see my father smiling through the shadows.

“You’ll get it,” he assured. “Take care of yourself.”

I nodded, hopeful, and finally let myself be drawn into the darkness of the modern institution of Miroki Fal.

27 The Gwaks’ House

“Pass, pass!” I shouted. I grabbed the ball and threw it to Manras while continuing to sing, “Welcome, oh welcome!”

I rehearsed the welcome poem which, at Miroki Fal’s request, we, the gwak boys and girls of his institution, should sing to the delegation from Yadibia which would arrive the next day. We had been rehearsing for two weeks every night before going to sleep, and although the result was very bad according to Mr. Shak the Supervisor, he could not say that we did not put our hearts into our task. He said the only passable part was when I was singing my solo in Caeldric. Coming from him, that was quite a compliment. As the former headmaster of a school in Taabia, in Raiwanian territory, Mr. Shak had the character of an old watchdog in his soul, but he was more of a barker than a biter. On the outside of the institution, he was all smiles and speeches of modernity. On the inside, he was… a man who lived off Miroki Fal’s pension and who, though he had the belt handy, would close his eyes as long as he wasn’t provoked too much.

Still bellowing, I saw Manras gently pass the ball to Little Wolf, and I changed my verse to shout:

“Come on, Little Wolf! Pass it to Little Prince, you can do it!”

Sure he could, blasthell: the little boy kicked the ball, making it fly out of the square and towards the river. For a second we stood still, and then, bawling, we ran off behind the ball, which rolled and rolled… An isturbagged man who was passing by saw it pass by him without doing anything and, splash, the ball fell in the water. I stopped on the white steps leading down to the river, in shock and beside myself.

“Blasthell, it’s going away, gwaks, it’s going away!”

I took Manras by the arm before the dark elf could touch the water and said:

“I have an idea! Don’t move!”

I had seen a long reed thrown in the middle of the square. I ran to pick it up and returned… only to see Rogan retrieve the ball with his top hat. He put his hat with the ball inside and gave me a mocking smile.

“But whatcha doing with that reed, Sharpy! You’re overdoing it: it was only a stone’s throw from the bank.”

I sighed, and seeing Little Wolf ready to go down the stairs to the river, I blocked his way with the reed.

“You, don’t go any further, demorjed.”

Impatiently, Damba, Little Mouse, Parysia, Davik, and Diver called us, and as they trotted up to us, the latter threw out:

“So? Where’s the ball?”

“Won’t be coming, it drowned!” Rogan retorted teasingly.

And he went up the stairs to the square, empty-handed. Seeing the disappointed expressions of our comrades, Manras betrayed us by covering his mouth and laughing. Then the Priest uncovered the hidden ball and threw it hard, away from the water.

“The first one who catches it doesn’t do the cleaning!” he cried.

He sprinted first, and the others followed. What the Priest meant by not doing the cleaning was to have the privilege of being a slacker while the others—there were forty-two of us—cleaned up the House thoroughly. With the arrival of the Undergrounders, Mr. Shak wanted to see the institution spotless, as if the Great Baïra and his friends were going to visit the House of the Gwaks! Actually, we were supposed to clean the courtyard, but I had found myself with the ball in my hands and… we couldn’t resist the temptation. Especially since Mr. Shak had confiscated the ball for a whole week and had just given it back to me with a promise that we wouldn’t have any more fun smashing it against the windows.

I was running fast, and so was Rogan, but Diver had wings: he caught the ball, and we all fell on him.

“I’ve got it!” one shouted.

“No, I have it!” Manras bellowed.

With so much commotion, the ball escaped us and ended up at the feet of a Little Wolf who looked at us, curious. He took the ball and…

“No, no, no, Little Wolf, no!” we all cried in horror.

This time, it was I who had wings, I gained momentum, and was about to grab Little Wolf along with the ball when I suddenly tripped—with Davik’s foot, I think—and went down on my face. A clear, childish laugh ripped through the afternoon air. I looked up in astonishment, looked at Little Wolf… and was left speechless.

The little one was sitting on the mosaics in the square and was laughing loudly at me. And, while my companions exclaimed “The Little Wolf spoke! The Little Wolf is laughing! He spoke, he spoke!”, dumbfounded, I straightened up, approached as if to make sure that it was really Little Wolf who was making that noise, and then I burst out laughing in my turn, bursting with joy.

“Little Wolf!” I hugged him and stepped aside, crying out, “Little Wolf! You speak! Speak, say something to us. Say ‘Little Wolf,’ say it, come on, please do it for me.”

Little Wolf was still smiling, but he had calmed down. He opened his mouth, and we all said in chorus: Li-ttle Wolf, Li-ttle Wolf! You see how easy it is! And so encouraged, when we fell silent in expectation, he said:

“Lidwo.”

We laughed, and with my heart pounding, I lifted him into the air and said:

“You’re one hell of a demorjed, aren’t you? The first thing you do is laugh and make fun of me!”

“Appy,” he said.

He wiggled his jaw sharply, as if something was bothering him. I looked at him, trying to understand.

“Huh?”

Manras explained with a laugh:

“He’s calling you, Sharpy!”

“Appy,” Little Wolf confirmed.

“Sharpy,” I corrected him, moved.

“Arpy.”

“Harpy, your mother!” I laughed. And I kissed him hard on the forehead. Why hadn’t Little Wolf ever spoken before? Because of a bone problem? Because of a trauma? Because of laziness? Who knows? But who cares, as long as he was talking now!

Other gwaks had come to see what was going on, and there was a whole group of us admiring Little Wolf’s progress, when Dil came, shook my shoulder, and whispered:

“Sharpy. You got a visitor.”

I opened my eyes wide. A visitor? Today? But it wasn’t Sacredday. Normally, visits were only allowed on Sacreddays. So far, I had been visited by my brother Samfen, who was about to finish his year at the Elms and then go straight to work as an apprentice ceramist. He had come with Sarova, and when they left, my younger brother clearly looked like he would have preferred to stay in the institution with me. The thing is, when I had told them that we only attended the lessons whenever possible as long as there was a willing master ready to come, his eyes had lit up with enthusiasm. But then I had swept away his illusions by saying to him: “Hey, Shyur, but the rest of the day, apart from Sacreddays, we spend it working like isturbags, and the barges on the quay! They smell worse than a vampire’s spit, and guess what, we’ve also been put to unload all the food for the animals in the Wild Garden, you know, and you can’t imagine how much those beasts swallow! I sneaked away for a while the other day to go and see them, and good mother, I wouldn’t like to get into one of those cages, and you don’t know! some of the gwaks here are such big isturbags, really, me included, bah, you wouldn’t like it here, little bro, but come and see me on Sacreddays, you bring me something good to eat, and maybe I’ll let you play ball with my comrades, runs for you?”

As a result, Samfen and Sarova had returned the next three Sacreddays, but Sarova no longer seemed as seduced by life in the Gwaks House.

My mother had come too, to bring me clothes, and when she asked me if I was happy here, I told her I was. Was I, actually? It wasn’t all rosy, and I wished I had a little more freedom, but… I had almost everything I needed: my companions, food, and… my nakrus amulet. I touched it with my hand, then stood up with Little Wolf in my arms, and stretched my neck amidst so many gwak heads. Who…?

I widened my eyes and ran off, shouting:

“Yaaal!”

My master was accompanied by Yerris and…

“Good mother!” I exclaimed, observing the small package the semi-gnome was carrying in his arms. “This is…?”

The Black Cat smiled broadly.

“This is Oraïza,” he announced. “She’s just three weeks old today.”

Oraïza? Funny name, I thought as I looked at her curiously. I assumed that she must be a girl. She was so tightly swaddled that you could hardly see her. She had a face as black as coal, like her father’s, and… I smiled with all my teeth. What little hair she had was red as fire, like her mother. Her eyes, however, were light blue like Yerris’. She had just woken up.

“Ayo, Little Black Cat,” I said to the little one.

“Ayo!”

That was Little Wolf who had spoken and who, clinging to my neck, was looking at the little newcomer with fascination. Yal snorted.

“Did the little one speak?”

“He did!” I confirmed cheerfully. “That’s the big news of the day. The Little Wolf speaks. Little Wolf! Say something to Little Kitten. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”

Little Wolf nodded and said:

“Blasthell.”

Yerris let out a slight grunt.

“Whoa, you dumb bastard. Don’t teach the little girl no fancy words.”

“Blasthell!” Little Wolf repeated cheerfully, smiling.

I rolled my eyes, very amused, put the little one down and took out his bone doll.

“Go play with the Master and tell him things, and see if he answers you.”

He did not move away, but his attention was now focused on the Master, and he began to stammer sounds and laugh to himself. I looked at Yerris and Yal with a big smile.

“Looks like things are going well for you here,” Yal observed, pleased.

I nodded.

“Well, yes. What about the rest of you? And Sla? Where is she?”

Yerris pouted.

“Sleeping. She didn’t want to part with the little one for a second, so I took advantage of the moment and… I took her out for you to see and to get some fresh air. I left a note for Sla so she wouldn’t hang me by my ears on the way back. Don’t know if that’ll work,” he coughed. “Actually, I’d better get back now. Hopefully she’s still asleep and won’t find out until later. I was just coming to see how you were doing. Looks like a lot of comrades have joined you, huh.”

I nodded vigorously.

“I tested it here for a few days and saw that I was living like a king,” I replied. “So I said to them all, ‘C’mon, guys’. And they came. Well, not all of them. Swift said that they wouldn’t accept him because he was too old. I told him he was an isturbag, and I told Hishiwa, the nephew of the glassmaker who also employs my brother Skelrog, about him. And, now, Swift has started working there. He hasn’t come back, so I guess things are going well for him. Syrdio didn’t stay, either. I have no idea where he is. At first, I couldn’t take him, remember? The punch you gave him in the face at the mine! But, actually, he’s not a bad guy. He’s a good fellow. I hope he doesn’t act like an isturbag. Anyway, there’s no more room in the beds here,” I laughed. “Charity, you bet! With all the gwaks left in the Cats, we can fill twenty houses like this, at the least. But I can’t complain. We live royally, blasthe—”

“No swearing, Sharpy, I’m serious,” Yerris interrupted me. And he smiled. “Well, I’m happy for you, shyur.”

He glanced at my companions—some of whom had returned to their cleaning duties, others who were less serious had continued playing ball—and lowered his voice, saying:

“Don’t worry about Syrdio. He’s fine. I saw him a while ago.”

I arched an eyebrow in surprise and delight.

“And did you mix it up with him?” I scoffed.

“Mmph. No. I’m not that impulsive anymore,” the Black Cat assured. “I’m a father. And, besides, it’s not appropriate to have a quarrel with a confr… Hum. Uh…”

He gave my cousin a guilty look. I blinked.

“A confrere?” I completed, stunned, in a whisper. “Syrdio?”

Syrdio, that gwak, best friend of Swift’s, that cunning, deceitful isturbag, he had joined the Brotherhood of the Black Daggers? I frowned. But… since when?

“No way,” I snorted.

Yal raised a hand and said:

“Forget it, Draen. Yerris, now that you’ve got the hang of harmonies, maybe you should learn to…”

“Yeah,” Yerris said with a clearing of his throat.

“To hold your tongue,” Yal finished.

This reminded me sadly that I was no longer part of the Black Daggers, but I pushed away the discouragement by saying to myself: perhaps I am no longer part of them, but blasthell, what a quiet life I have now.

“Uh… I better get going,” Yerris declared. “I’ll stop by some other day. And I’ll try to see you sing tomorrow on the Esplanade, hopefully I’ll have time. You guys are out in the paper, you know? The poor children, too, will give our new allies a welcome in Caeldric!” he recited. “They don’t call it Morelic any more, you noticed? Caeldric has become like the new Owram. The language of scholars. Even the Citadel’s nail-pinchers will envy you. Anyway…! I’ve got to go, but, hey, by the way, I haven’t forgotten the harmonica and the five crowns you gave me. You don’t forget things like that.” We exchanged smiles. “Ayo, shyur.”

“Ayo, Black Cat,” I answered, moved. “Ayo, Oraïza.”

I saw him walk slowly away, as if he feared that the movement of each step might disturb the girl. I smiled, turned to my master, and pointed to a nearby bench. We sat down. The sky that day, apart from a few white clouds, was a beautiful blue, and the still waters of the river sparkled and slid along with the barges. My cousin commented that it was a beautiful day, and that there were lovely views from here, and I, resting my chin on my hands and my hands on one knee, said:

“Elassar, just because I’m not in the brotherhood, doesn’t mean you can’t come to see me, right?”

Yal gave me an amused look and said:

“No, of course not. The reason it took me so long to come to you… was because I didn’t want to get you in trouble. I’ve had flies investigating me. But that’s all over now. I’ll try to come more often, how about that?”

I smiled, hopeful.

“That would be nice. I know you have a lot of work to do. I understand that, you know.”

He patted me on the shoulder.

“I’ll come next Sacredday. From what Kakzail told me, we don’t allow visitors on other days, but… Yerris was so eager to show you his daughter that we were willing to break the rules.”

I huffed, amused, and asked curiously:

“But wasn’t Kakzail off in the Underground with Yabir and Shokinori?”

“Yes, but he returned with Zoria a few days ago to escort a diplomat from Estergat. I don’t think they like life underground very much. He said he’d come visit you this Sacredday. Apparently he’s thinking of coming back to the valley and being a shepherd again, like when he was a boy.”

I took a deep breath.

“Gosh. Like Alitard.”

“Who?”

“The one in the book you gave me,” I explained. “Alitard, The Blessed Valley Man, And His Lamb Destiny,” I quoted. “He would travel all over the world to get Destiny back and, afterwards, he would return to the valley. I loved that book.”

Yal smiled.

“Well, it was the only one you had, so…” he remarked, jokingly. “How are the classes around here? Are you learning anything?”

I made a meditative pout.

“Things. Yes. Somewhat. I’m putting in the effort. Now I’m learning to write. And the teachers seem happy. They’re volunteers, so they’re always happy. Well, except when we slugbone around, but that doesn’t happen often. We gwaks are very well-behaved,” I assured under my master’s amused look. I shrugged my shoulders and, after a pause, I asked, “What about Arik? Is he doing okay?”

Yal smiled.

“Mm. The boy went with Ab to another town. We thought it was safer for him. So far, so good. By the way, he asked me to say ayo and thank you. And… I wanted to return this.”

He took out a new leather necklace with a silver pendant and handed it to me. I examined it in amazement.

“My metal plate?”

Good mother! It was the Malaxalra family metal plate, with my name engraved in the incomprehensible script of the valley. I had lost it in winter because of that isturbagged Braggart, the night he had “decorated” me. Yal confirmed with a gesture.

“I found it by pure chance at the Moon Square market. In fact, if Nael hadn’t shown it to me for a closer look, I wouldn’t have even noticed it.”

“Nael,” I repeated, smiling. “So, how’s it going with her?”

Sprawled on the bench, Yal snorted.

“Fine and not so fine. She’s a wonderful person, but she has some weird ideas…” At my puzzled look, he shrugged. “She’s a sociology student and all she thinks about is revolution and creating a better society. I told her: be careful, one day the police will arrest you and put you in jail. Well, that last moon they’ve already sent her to the station five times. The fifth time, I was so worried that I said to her: quit all this nonsense, Nael. And she got angry. She called me names. Reactionary and so on. Just the word ‘Nonsense’ is not a reason to get so upset, is it? I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Anyway. I think the best thing to do is to wait until she calms down a bit. Ah, another thing,” he said, as if to prevent me from making any comment on the subject. He pulled a paper from his other pocket, and his eyes glistened. “This, Mor-eldal, is a letter for you.”

I arched my eyebrows, dying of curiosity.

“For me? From whom?” I asked as I took the letter.

I read, «To Draen, from Sir Dad.» I filled my lungs with air and let out an exclamation. It was a letter from Le Bor!

I jumped to my feet and shouted:

“Manras! Dil! Priest! Little Wolf! You’ve got to see that!”

More gwaks approached, curious to know what was going on. I opened the letter feverishly and glanced at it generally before announcing:

“A letter from Sir Dad, comrades. That is, from the best Cat of Cats and from the Queen of Estergat. Yeah, I have such correspondents!” I boasted in an important tone.

I laughed, and the Priest pressed me:

“So? What’s he saying?”

“Coming, coming,” I said. And, standing on the bench like a town crier, I read at the top of my lungs, “Dear Four-Hundred!” I signaled myself with my fist to make it clear that he was writing the letter to me, and I barely lowered my voice as I continued, “First, a… greeting to you and the other four. I… I’m not listing names because I’m a… slacker! you know me. Damn right!” I laughed. I continued, eating up the words, “I hope the five of you are okay. Damn, damn we are!” I exclaimed. And I read on. “On our… side, my queen and I have… settled in a wonder… full city.”

“What city?” Manras leapt at once.

I shook my head.

“He doesn’t say.”

“Are you sure?”

I clicked my tongue.

“Shut up, I’m reading,” I protested. And I continued: “We make a good living! We both… miss you guys.” I bit my lip in emotion. Gosh, did he really miss me? I swallowed. “We miss you guys,” I repeated, “but, if w… if you guys were with us, maybe I would say… the opposite.” I huffed, amused, “Pfff… what an isturbag!”

“Turbag,” Little Wolf said, echoing me. The little one looked up at me with his blue eyes, clutching my pants.

“Come on, finish it off, Sharpy, there’s no end to it!” Damba protested.

“Okay,” I agreed. “It’s almost over.” And I finished, “If you ever need help, don’t hesitate to look me up in the high society of… Veli… ria. The Queen and I send our love to all five of you… The hell, did he become a nail-pincher, good mother!” I gasped.

“Napinchel?” Little Wolf tried, pulling me by the sleeve. And he shouted in an insistent voice: “Napinchel, napinchel, Sha’py, napinchel!”

“Me? Napinchel, your mother!” I replied, incredulous.

My companions laughed, and feeling like the center of all this joyful meeting of gwaks, the little one uncovered his milk teeth, happy.

28 Epilogue

Well, you wouldn’t think so, but things have changed a lot since then. Not always for the better, I must say. The institution of Miroki Fal lasted five moons, until the rumor spread that Mr. Shak was part of a child trafficking ring. I’m sure it wasn’t true, but that added to some slugboneries we did, and the controversy about why the gwaks were getting a better education than the honest children of the working poor, and that sort of thing… eventually, Mr. Shak gave up his job and there were no volunteers to replace him. We had continued to live there for a week with two overseers, but, guessing that our good fortune was becoming more complicated and that we would soon find ourselves on the streets again, we finally left before the flies sent us to the poorhouse—naturally, the first to run away was Diver: fearing that the flies would want to incarnation him, he barricaded himself in the Cats and joined the Albino’s gang to get back to cleaning out the tunnels. The rest of us went back to the Cats, glad to have our freedom back, but disappointed to see ourselves left behind again. Where had the great charity campaign led by Miroki Fal gone? Into oblivion! The Nail-pincher was not heard from again, for he had gone back to Griada after his marriage to Lesabeth, and he had bigger fish to fry. As for the money he had left me, the barber had blackmailed me by telling me that I had to enter a school outside Estergat as a boarder and do as he said if I wanted to receive anything before I came of age. I took the blackmail badly and replied: “Keep the money, sir, I’m going to work, I want to be a grinder”. But I couldn’t find anyone willing to teach me, so, in the end, I listened to the Priest and became a singer and a wizard.

So, in the morning, I was saving lives, and Rogan was saving souls. We only operated in the Cats and the Black Quarter, because we didn’t want to attract attention either. But in our neighborhood, we gained a reputation both as little scammers and as blessed children of the Spirits. The men in the gangs, the cousins of Yarras, the gwaks on the street… our best customers were Cats to the core. We didn’t always make a lot of money, because we didn’t take as much as the graduate doctors, so in the afternoons, we would join the cronies and become artists, acrobats, and screamers. I would end the day with a hoarse throat, but I was happy as a clam!

One afternoon, in late autumn, a nail-pincher stopped on the Esplanade to look at us, but, as it didn’t seem he would throw coins into the cap any soon and as he was now the only one listening, I stopped bawling, yawned over my barrel, and said to Manras, “Count the nails, shyur!”. The Little Wolf rushed over to help out, because he said he could count ragingly well—in seven moons he had grown like a prince and was smarter than a fox. Dil was still a bit quiet, but he was the only one I’d managed to give effective singing lessons to. One, two, three, three and a half!, cried Little Wolf. Manras kicked him, exasperated, because the little one was confusing him. Then our only spectator, hidden behind his wide-brimmed hat, said to me thus:

“Survivor. What would you say if I offered to come and sing to my daughter to celebrate her thirteenth birthday tomorrow?”

I was standing on my barrel, and I had to jump down to get a good look at his face. I smiled, uncovering all my teeth. It was Korther! Good mother, I had not seen him for at least seven moons. He hadn’t changed at all. I put on the air of a seasoned and polite gwak and agreed in a calm voice:

“Well. It suits me ragingly well, sir. But it’s only for singing to the shyurine, isn’t it?”

Korther’s devil eyes smiled.

“That will be up to you,” he replied. “Then, for the party, we agree.”

“We’ll sing to you for free,” I offered, feeling generous. “Right, comrades? And we’ll give him a party with acrobatics! The shyurine will be drooling from shock…”

“About that, we don’t agree,” Korther cut me off with a grimace. “No acrobatics. And no way you will be doing it for free. I’m hiring you.”

“No way!” I protested.

“I’m the nail-pincher here: and I insist on paying you,” Korther insisted.

I shrugged, smiled, and bowed mockingly.

“As you wish, Mr. Nail-pincher. But home singing is expensive. Especially since I’m a renowned gwak cat, and I’ve got a schedule heavier than a convict’s sack…”

“Fifty,” Korther said.

I squinted my eyes, puzzled.

“Nails?”

“Siatos, lad: siatos,” the Black Dagger kap smiled.

Fifty siatos! Blasthell, blasthell, blasthell, with that we could take a vacation and go to the Shell Beach to make necklaces! Or we could eat like pigs. Or we could buy books and get educated. Or… or lose money like a bunch of isturbags in the Cat Quarter, but those were the risks of life. I exchanged a big smile with the Priest, I didn’t even dare to haggle, and I exclaimed:

“It runs, sir!”

And, turning around, I began to sing:

How beautiful you, hills,
valleys and meadows are!
But for the Rock and for Life,
I’ll sing
until my last cry!

* * *

* * *

Author’s note: End of book 3. 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!