Chapter 7: A job for you

I woke up to some soft rockings. I slowly opened my eyes and found out it was Spare who was swaying me. “-to go,” my still sleepy ears managed to catch. I blinked twice, trying to keep myself awake. “We have to get going.” His voice once more entered my ears.

“Nnngh,” I stretched and sat up. “How long have I slept for?” My throat felt dry, but I had the feeling it hadn’t been long. It wasn’t even afternoon yet, but I was tired from all the walking, and that bed felt so comfy…

“Half an hour.” His hand was waving horizontally. “Today you’ll come with me and observe how I work. Do you have any questions before we leave?”

I get to be the one who asks questions? I ordered my thoughts and started with the one that was nagging me the most. “Are you a Baril?”

“No, no,” he dismissed with his hand, “but I am one of their Inkers, and they treat us generously.”

“Then…” I wasn’t sure how to word it, so I played it safe, “if it’s not prying too much, why did you have to hide in the sewers?” I couldn’t think of anything that the Baril wouldn’t be able to protect him of.

“Mmh,” he paused, “let’s just say that there are some dangers that not even power or Ink, or Baril’s name for that matter, can save you from.”

“How can the Baril not protect you?” It was hard for me to imagine what dangers those could be, but I knew too little about the world.

“Suppose, and I’m not saying it’s the case, that the Kotari were trying to kill me. What do you think would happen if them and the Baril would go on an all-out war?”

“Supposing that was the case,” I said with deliberate calm, “they would probably fight for a while until both sides would be too weakened to continue.”

“And that’s it? Do you think all the other houses would lie still?”

“Of course…” I replied absentmindedly, “they would profit, maybe even ally and completely erase one, or the two of them, from the map.”

“The life of an Inker is not worth the downfall of their house.” He said in a ghostly voice, either accepting that as the truth or evoking the same words someone told him. “Let’s get going; anything else you can ask me on the go.”

In a matter of minutes, we were on the street again. I was like a cat overwhelmed by nature, trying to catch every bug, hiding from its own shadow, pursuing strangers, and jumping for no reason at all. Everything seemed so surreal; I saw a bakery for the first time and almost died in place from its indescribable smell. People dressed in strange tunics, shirts, coats, and vests ignore other people. Some showed off their tattoos with their sleeveless clothes, but most of them kept their well hidden.

As far as I knew, it wasn’t in bad taste to show your drawings, but unless they were made of high-quality Ink, in which case it was a symbol of power, you might prefer to hide them. And it was true; the worst I saw was a pitch-black Ink, which by no means was second-rate. I caught the sight of some blue on a passerby, but I didn’t stare for long.

“Why do I carry my tools instead of carving them on my skin?” I asked something else.

“Would you be able to carve them?”

I thought back to the waves and knots that garnished its wooden frame. They weren’t hard to draw, but that sensation of being purposely placed in a specific design assaulted me again. “Those waves… what are they?”

“Indeed, what are they?” His smile told me that I was right on point; it was not that simple. And, at the same time, those words hinted that it was an impossible task for me. I can’t draw something I can’t comprehend, and it’s not yet the time for me to know.

I was about to ask one more question, but I was late. “Listen to me now,” he seriously looked at me, “we are about to arrive. Remember, you are my apprentice. You must follow a step behind, always. When I bow, you bow. Don’t talk, don’t touch. Don’t wander around by yourself. Be polite.”

Can I breathe? I thought to myself, refraining from saying it out loud. “Haa…” I sighed, “who are we visiting?”

“Some rich noble’s spoiled son.” His lack of emotion spoke volumes. It is not a job he enjoyed, but it had to be done. “He fancied some new item, and I’m being paid to do it,” he shrugged his shoulders.

We stood in front of a house with silver statues spread through all its roof. The doorknob was a true absurdity, a massive chunk of gold shaped as an Ink flask. It paired well with the polished and varnished redwood door, making the entrance stand out from all the other houses in the zone. A man wearing a brown tunic without any ornament of any kind opened the door and showed us inside. It’s probably the butler, I thought.

To me, who had never been inside a house until now, it seemed like we were in a palace. We took an endless corridor, large enough to fit three doors on one side and two on the other, and took a right just before reaching the stairway that lead to the upper floor. Madness, why would anyone ever need so much space for? I was mentally cursing whoever needed this big a house when we met our client, or so I presumed.

A head taller than me, blond, his cheeks speckled with white and brown spots, and an attitude that said ‘you are here to serve me, come kiss my feet.’ His rich clothes, striking blues, and blinding yellows reinforced my disgust for everything he meant. I had never had the nobles in high esteem; truth be told, if Spare had been an actual Baril and not their Inker, I wouldn’t know how to feel.

Spare’s head began to lower, and so did his back. I bit my lip, suppressing my urge to shout a few profanities, and hurriedly bowed too. I was afraid that if I took a second more, my face would betray me. I covertly peeked, unsure how long we should maintain the bow. One second, two, three. I was getting nervous; why the hell would we have to be so profusely humiliated.

“Oh please! Do come up!” A slightly high-pitched voice instructed us. That must be the young gentleman, I said to myself with sarcasm. And he has the nerves to act kindly after having had us bowing for almost five seconds? My first impression was, needless to say, disastrous. He represented everything my mother warned me about the rich.

He was holding something on his opened palms, some kind of dagger. He walked towards us with the cutting edge facing us, something that anyone, even a servant, could consider a grave affront.

“This would be what I requested of your ser-” He suddenly stopped. His head harshly moved back, and his eyes focused on me for the first time, surprised to see me there. “And who would that be?”

I tried to conceal my tension but couldn’t help tightening my jaw. Keep quiet, you can’t talk, I reminded myself. My teeth wanted to grind, but thankfully Spare intervened before I lost the battle with myself. “He is my apprentice, Tarar. Today he will be looking only.” He didn’t apologize for my presence nor tried to chase me out, which slightly warmed my heart.

He feigned laughter and waved his hand, acting like he didn’t care at all. “As I was saying, your job today is to carve this beautiful likato on my arm,” he said while pointing towards his left arm with his head and eyebrows.

I didn’t know much about weapons, but I guessed it was just the type of dagger. That one thing, I had to agree with him; it was indeed a masterpiece of a weapon. Beautiful is a blunt way to describe the unique chilliness that emanated from the blade. Its ridge glowed with the blood of its previous victims. The grip ended in a hexagonal pommel made of a mixture of precious metals. But what really took the breath away was the complex system of veins etched on the blade’s metal, meandering from its union with the guard and ending on its point.

I saw Spare taking the weapon and couldn’t help but think how wasteful it would be. This is a tool for death, not the newest toy for a conceited and spoiled child. He did everything I would have done, what he had been teaching me until now. Seeing with the eyes and brain, finding the hidden properties of the item. He had already spent 5 minutes observing, meditating, and fixing the image to his brain, when the kid decided to interrupt his process.

“Make its edge sharper, and I don’t like those lines it has in the blade.” It was like he had stabbed me with that dagger, right through my heart. To get rid of those lines, he says?

“T-” I was about to repeat my disbelief out loud, but Spare’s hand appeared in front of my head. His palm was open, it didn’t come close to touch me, but it did its work. My momentary slip up went unnoticed, and the noble’s son didn’t notice, which proved to be a godsend. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen a master at his craft.

He laid open the same leather bag with two wings I saw back in the sewers. The dagger was carefully placed on his lap, making sure it made physical contact but didn’t hinder his drawing ability.

He took a fountain pen, one closely similar to mine, and dipped it in some honey-colored Ink. His closed eyes suddenly opened when the nib made contact with the boy’s skin. I could swear they irradiated a blinding light; they looked beyond his dermis, way past its bones. In a single trace, without ever lifting the pen, he outlined the dagger. It was fast, accurate, impossibly true to the real object. If I had touched that Ink, I would have cut myself.

Switching the fountain pen for one with a broader nib, he started drawing the mounts and knolls that composed the grip. One at a time, the shape of a hand’s finger took place in the cold metal. I could have grabbed it, and it would have fit my hand perfectly. The small guard, thin and with noticeable dents from past battles, he drew with a hooked nib. It allowed him to get all the details right, drawing from impossible angles. The dagger, save for its veins, was finished when he drew the fuller and the central ridge with a clone of my Drak’gath. I knew it wasn’t mine because its knobs were arranged differently.

I was lost for words. It might have taken one minute or an hour; I had no idea how much time it had passed. He used a total of four tools, each with mastery and dexterity, and the final picture looked as if he had only used one; I couldn’t find any point that showed he ever switched.

His requests, even the absurd ones, were fulfilled to perfection. I couldn’t sense anything wrong with the drawing, which of course, was expected of someone who managed to stop my death. But it was the first time I saw him carving skin, and the experience marked me. I don’t exactly know how to word it, it was just insightful; something just clicked into place.

“Here, a flask, as agreed.” The sharp voice woke me up in time to witness the exchange. A flask the size of my thumb, filled with that honey orange Ink, landed on Spare’s hand. That much!? If a moment ago I was dumbfounded by Spare’s performance, now it was for its payment.

My daydreaming was cut short as we were guided back to the street. We didn’t stay a single second more than necessary inside that house, which I appreciated. Our way to the Inn was quiet, sheltered by the moon’s light, which I used to let everything I saw sink in. There was much to think and to learn.

Back at the Inn, Spare told the waitress to bring our food to our room. I collapsed on the heavenly bed but resisted the urge to sleep. Not precisely out of hunger, but rather eager to talk with Spare. He seemed to sense my agitation, and with a smile, opened the conversation.

“So, how was the experience?”

“He was a cunt!” I replied. You’d be surprised how much a young kid like myself can learn in a place infested with drunkards. Fights constantly broke, and insults were only the first thing being thrown. Don’t be surprised that I knew a few of them.

He had to hold his belly and dry a few tears from all the laughter. “That he was!” He said between bursts of air. He had a hard time composing himself but eventually managed to continue. “And the Inking, what about it?”

“I…” I stuttered. I knew he would ask it, and I had been trying since we left that house to find the right way to describe it. But I couldn’t. “Have you ever watched the sky and thought about how the stars work? It seems so distant and foreign.” He nodded, seemingly understanding my lack of words. “Some parts of me think they understood what you did, after all, I’ve been studying all this time. But when I try to pull that knowledge, I just fail.”

“That’s a good sign, Tarar.” He reassured me. “You have an extraordinary mind, unbecoming of a kid your age. The rate at which you absorb new information astonishes me. But you lack practice and experience. If you had told me you understood everything I did, I wouldn’t have trusted it even for a second.”

I blinked a few times, having a hard time receiving the unexpected compliments. I’m going to be the best Inker, I owe it to my mother and to Spare. “Spare.” I locked my eyes with his. “I want to learn more. I want to be able to draw like you.”

He didn’t laugh, not even the tiniest bit. “I trust you, and that’s why I have a proposition for you.” A few knocks were heard on the door. “But let’s eat first!” he said while jumping out of bed with renewed vigor.

I might have been upset if anything else interrupted us right at that moment, but not for that delicious food. We had vegetable stew and a hot and crunchy bread loaf. Even if I had wanted to talk while eating, I wouldn’t have been able to. Spare didn’t like it when I spoke with my mouth full, and I didn’t want to let any of the food get cold.

I ended in a hurry and had to wait for Spare, who was calmly eating his share. I used the time to draw a quick sketch of the spoon I used to eat. There was nothing much to do, and as he said, I had to practice.

“I believe I was saying I had a proposal for you.” He said right after finishing. I nodded, and he continued. “You need experience, and you could use some spare change. I can’t let you work with nobles, as any mistake could potentially get you killed, but I do have a job for you.”

Get killed for a mistake? What kind of society was that, I thought. “Yes, I understand,” I fearfully said.

“It’s an easy job, register on the Inkers association.” His face drew an apologetic smile.

He saw my confused face, so he explained to me everything there was to it. Basically, those who professionally drew tattoos had to do so under a strict set of rules. The first one, and really the most important, was to be accredited. The association was the local authority on Inkers; it maintained a list of its members and acted as a network of contacts and a job bank.

According to Spare, entering wasn’t easy. Its monthly membership fee wasn’t the problem, but rather its theoretical and practical exams. Admissions were done bi-monthly, and usually, more than three-fourths would fail. He said my chances were about eighty percent. I was mostly covered on the theoretical parts but could fail the practical exam depending on how magnanimous they felt.

One time, he reminisced, they asked the poor candidates to draw a ring with a gemstone. “A gemstone! Can you believe it!” He said, indignant. I didn’t know what was so tricky about it; I had been drawing a handful of things lately, and I hadn’t had that many problems. It seems that rubies have some properties that can only be seen under specific light conditions, and capturing them on a paper when you have no clue what those are is just out of the question.

“You still have three weeks to prepare; the last exam took place a month ago.” Prepare for what? I couldn’t help but think. It all came down to luck, by the looks of it. “I’ll bring you some books, which you can read when we are not out for a job.”

I was excited with the idea of being a step closer to becoming a real Inker, and also at the prospects of seeing Spare work again, but at the same time felt like the situation was spiraling out of my control. I was prepared for many things, but maybe adult life was just not one of them.

I fell prey to my dreams, to the sweet memories of my mother caressing my cheek while I fell asleep on her lap.