25. Jewels and explosives

With the agility of a veteran, Nat the Diver tossed me the wallet, I caught it and tossed it to Damba. Damba shoved it under his shirt, gestured “I’m going home”, and in a peace-and-virtue, melted into the crowd on the Esplanade. After a careful look around, Diver approached me with one of his wolfish smiles.

“How about we make a double, mate?”

To make a double meant, in our jargon, to steal something of value that would get us through the next day without working and perhaps even longer. The week before, we had snatched a porcelain teapot from a store. And the week before that, I had nicked a pocket watch, sold it for two siatos to Yarras, the White’s ruffian, and treated my cronies, the Mole, and the Soothsayer to a hot meal in a tavern in Tarmil. I knew Yerris was aware of my new job, but he had merely given me a worried look and said, ‘Be careful, shyur’. He who had said before that only the judgment of the Black Daggers kept him from being a pickpocket… he wasn’t one to give me any lessons. Especially since, in my opinion, it was much more reckless to steal something from Korther than from a posh, distracted nail-pincher in the middle of the street.

Diver looked at me quizzically. I put my hands behind my head, yawned, and nodded.

“Runs for me.”

We walked away together to the front steps of the Capitol. I climbed a few steps and scanned the square for Manras and Dil. I had left them with the papers near the central police station, and I was almost sure I sighted them. Five o’clock in the afternoon had just struck, and the place was more crowded than on a holiday. In fact, it almost was, since that very night the midnight celebrations for the Wells Moon would begin, during which the streets would be covered with garlands of flowers in honour of the ancestors, their spirits, and what have you. Looking out over the Esplanade and the sea of hats, I uttered an imprecation and said:

“Diver! Do you remember that scoundrel that almost split my head open with his stick?”

“The one from last week?”

“Yeah. I think I just saw him. Ah, that son of a rat… Do you know why he went after me?”

My partner laughed.

“Natural I know! You called him cheap because he wouldn’t give you a nail. And he gave you a good thrashing. I had time to steal his wallet and even his handkerchief!”

He laughed as he remembered, and I pouted. The arm where I had first been hit with the stick still hurt a little. It was lucky he hadn’t hit me on the head, because my wound from three weeks ago had barely just healed. I sighed and leaned on the railing, saying:

“But you didn’t hear what he said to me before he let me go. You know what he said to me?”

Diver rolled his eyes and hazarded:

“Rascal, little devil, tick, dead flea?”

I smiled.

“Aside from that. He read me my future, I swear, he told me: Wretch, you’ll end up at Carnation one of these days, but I hope you die before then and get eaten by rats…! And other such things. Of all the curses I’ve received so far, that damn isturbag takes the cake. I swear. Some people don’t just deserve to have their wallets stolen. Blasthell! If I ever see him in the Labyrinth, I won’t be the one to receive the blows, I tell you, I’ll throw a rat in his face! My ancestors are witnesses, that scoundrel is a nasty devil with no heart and…”

Diver interrupted me, impatient.

“Make it short, Sharpy. And stop rambling about your ancestors, you sound like the Priest. There’s a lot of heartless devils out there, ya know. Starting with the Ojisaries. And if we want to do something to get the alchemist back, we need money to buy good weapons, because now they’re more than ever on guard, and it won’t be enough to throw stones at them… or rats. So, let’s go ahead and make that double. I got an idea.”

I bit my cheek and followed him without protest, still swallowing the urge to hurl venom at that nail-pincher, the sight of which had brought back bad memories. We passed an apple stall, and Diver took a fruit; not to be outdone, I did the same. Nat was not much older than I was, a year older, perhaps, not more than two, but he had been stealing and begging for a living since he had the use of reason, and his actions were so natural that I sometimes wondered if he even thought of them.

We arrived in front of the Stock Exchange, and the Diver stopped.

“Wait. I was thinking of setting up a scene, but we need reinforcements.”

“Damba is gone,” I objected.

“Yeah…” Nat bit his lip, thoughtfully. “I wonder where the hell Syrdio is; ever since you became a partner, we haven’t seen him…” He gave me a sidelong glance. “Your cronies could give us a hand.”

I frowned.

“They’re working right now.”

“And they’d earn a lot more if they changed their livelihood,” Diver laughed. “You yourself say that lately they don’t even earn thirty nails between them.” As I hesitated, he insisted: “Come on! You can see they’re dying to help us. Manras, at least. The other one’s a bit slow on the uptake. Besides, they’ll only serve as a distraction, don’t worry.”

I gave in, and we went to find Manras and Dil. We found them sitting on a stoop talking with other newsboys. I arched an eyebrow in amusement. Working hard, eh? I was about to call out to them when Manras suddenly stood up and shouted angrily:

“Take it back!”

And before my stunned eyes, he threw himself at a blond newspaper crier. They both screamed, rolled on the pavement, grabbed each other’s clothes, and unwittingly hit a passer-by, who kicked them, annoyed. But Manras did not even notice, busy as he was biting the blond boy’s arm… Joining them at last, I smacked Manras on the back of his neck to get him off, and I pushed him aside, grumbling:

“What the blasthell is wrong with you, shyur! Don’t you know that fighting is only good for isturbags?”

At least that was what Yal had told me once, long ago, when he found me at the Peak, covered in bruises. The little dark elf made a stubborn pout, and as the other newsboy whimpered and cried his eyes out, sucking his bite, he fought back:

“He laughed at me! He told me I’m an idiot ’cause Dil reads me the titles ’cause I can’t read them.”

Nat the Diver burst into a great laugh and exclaimed:

“Well, the world is full of idiots then! Stop whining, isturbag!” he said to the blond newsboy contemptuously. “Manras may not be able to read, but at any rate, he can bite, have you noticed that? Learned beast, cultured turnip!” And he took Manras by the arm, saying, “Come, shyur. Don’t be so touchy. Leave these papers and come with us, we have some serious work for you.”

Manras’ eyes lit up.

“For real?”

“For real,” the thief smiled.

I did not like his tone. I beckoned Dil to follow us, and as he carried all the papers, I cleared my throat.

“Uh… Dil. Are you really going to take all this stuff with you?”

Little Prince looked surprised.

“Well, natural. You have to return them if you don’t sell them.”

Despite Diver’s taunts, we accompanied him to the newspaper office to return the papers, and it was not until we were back on the Esplanade, sitting on the stone curb of the Manticore Fountain, that Nat explained his plan.

“It’s simple,” he said in an excited tone. “We’ll do the panhandler trick and jump a jewelry store. Actually, that jewelry store you see there.”

I paled a little and tried to read the letters on the window.

“Canostre Jewelry?”

“Dead round. First, wait here, I’m going to get a mate of mine who knows how to dress well. He owes me one, so he’ll be along for the ride for sure. He’ll be the customer with the nails, and you’ll go in and ask for a handout. My friend will be generous, he’ll give you some nails, and bingo, you’ll leave saying thank you, no hanging around. It runs?”

I frowned.

“I didn’t get that,” I admitted. “Your friend’s the one giving us the handout?”

“The handout and, above all, the ring or brooch that he will have snatched, natural!” Diver explained, amused. “I don’t go there, because the jeweller knows me. He’s made of the same wood as the one who gave you that beating last week, Sharpy: he’s a heartless devil. It’s payback time!”

I stared at him intently. Manras said:

“I like it! How much does a ring cost?”

“Goldies,” Diver replied.

“Goldies!” the little dark elf enthused.

I glanced darkly at Manras and said to Nat:

“You know that, if they catch us and send us to the Carnation, we’re dead? The guards won’t give us sokwata.”

Diver’s eyes sparkled.

“We’re not gonna get caught. Come on, don’t cop out, Sharpy. Besides, Syrdio asked me to do something big, because he needs the money as soon as possible. He said he already has a plan to get the alchemist out.”

I was not surprised. Yerris and Sla, too, had one; indeed, they had more than one. I had contributed by buying picklocks from Korther with the money I had left over after paying for the Priest’s care. The Black Dagger kap had sold them to me cheaply, reminding me that if the flies heard the word “Black Dagger” from my mouth, goodbye to our friendship. That was two weeks ago. And Yerris and Sla had yet to put any of their grandiose, hyper-secret plans into action. I sighed.

“And what is Syrdio’s plan? To buy knives and stab the Ojisaries?”

My companion shrugged.

“He didn’t explain it all to me, but he said Swift thought it was a good plan.”

Yet he wouldn’t be a part of it, I guessed. I crossed my arms.

“The Black Cat already has a plan, and I don’t want to spoil it. So I’m not going into the jewelry store. Unless you tell me where the sokwata is.”

The reaction was immediate. In the blink of an eye, Diver darkened and gave me a wary look.

“No.”

His answer drew a breath of exasperation from me, and I stood up.

“But, Diver! You know me. You know I can share. And I won’t tell the Black Cat if you don’t want to. I swear I won’t. But just think, if anything happens to you and Syrdio, you condemn us all.”

Diver gave me a mocking look and stood up.

“Dead round. That’s why you better have my back. Now, honestly: are you with us or are you with the Black Cat?”

We looked each other in the eye. We almost bared our teeth. Well, in fact, he was waiting for the moment when I would lower my head or throw myself at him. As for me, I was trying to find a convincing argument. But I couldn’t find one. I clenched my jaws, and then Manras stepped in and said:

“You’re not going to fight him, are you? Fighting is only good for isturbags,” he reminded me very wisely.

I looked at him incredulously and mockingly, shook my head, and said with dignity:

“You’re a coward, Diver. I thought we were friends. If you won’t tell me where the sokwata is, you don’t trust me. And I don’t work with people who don’t trust me. Let’s go, shyurs.”

I began to walk away, and Manras, though hesitant, followed me. Dil, on the other hand, did not hesitate for a second. Then Diver blocked my way.

“Hey, wait a minute, Sharpy.” He was agitated. “All right. I’ll tell you. Only you. But, if you tell the Black Cat, I’ll never forgive you.”

I smiled happily.

“It runs. I’ll be as dumb as a post.”

Diver hesitated before bringing his lips to my ear and saying:

“It’s on the bank of the Timid River, in a hole between the rocks. A few yards down from Elves Street.”

I nodded with the firm intention of checking it out, despite all the… uh… confidence I had in the expert thief.

“Thank you, Diver,” I said, and smiled broadly this time. “Let’s go relieve that jeweler.”

Diver patted me on the shoulder and gave me a troubled look, as if thinking: “Blasthell, when did I become so trusting?”

* * *

The robbery lasted, so to speak, the time of a blink of an eye. Manras, Dil, and I entered the jewelry store adorned with fine garlands of flowers picked from the Esplanade, and I bellowed in a plaintive tone:

“Gentlemen! Give alms for the poor children on this holy day! We are hungry. Please.”

There were three customers in the shop. One of them was Nat’s friend, a guy in his twenties, dressed head to toe in nail-pincher clothes. The jeweler was already pretending to throw us out when our accomplice exclaimed:

“Poor souls!”

He looked so good-natured, so innocent, that when he threw me the coins and, between them, a ring, I said from the bottom of my heart:

“Thank you, sir! May your ancestors repay you.”

And we came out of there, all calm, with three or four alms nails and a ring that was worth goldies. The trick was done. The three of us melted into the crowd on the Esplanade, we soon found Diver, and I slipped him our booty.

“Did everything go well?” Nat inquired.

“Ragingly!” I said, smiling with all my teeth.

“That isturbagged man saw nothing!” Manras laughed.

Dil just shook his head and sighed, looking like he was thinking: frankly, what friends I’ve ended up with…

We left Diver to leg it with the ring and, still excited by our little success, my comrades and I began the descent towards the Avenue of Tarmil; we stopped at every shop window, trotted here and there, and observed leisurely the daily life of the honest people.

Finally, we took the way back to the Labyrinth, not forgetting to make detours and to stay on the lookout, because ever since the Ojisaries knew that we had a supply of sokwata, they were furious, and three days earlier, without going any further, they had almost captured Slaryn and the Soothsayer. Yerris was even thinking of changing his refuge, because he was suspicious of Syrdio and wasn’t sure he would hold his tongue if caught and questioned.

When we reached Swift’s refuge, it was already dark, and although it was not cold, they had lit a small fire for light. I saw Damba sitting on a barrel and asked him:

“Where’s Diver?”

He shrugged.

“No idea. He’s not home yet.”

I frowned, and for a moment, I imagined that a gwak-hunting fly had caught him and taken the ring, locking Diver up in Carnation Prison in the process. But, no, that was impossible: Diver almost never let himself be cornered by flies, and even less so with a booty like that.

So I patiently waited for him with Manras and Dil while the other gwaks played dice, betting nails. Then Swift appeared with Syrdio and Diver. All three, on seeing me, stopped dead in their tracks. A little voice told me that something was wrong, and I checked it at once when the Diver came up and pushed me with both hands and growled:

“Traitor!”

I opened my eyes wide, puzzled.

“What the blasthell?”

Swift intervened.

“Oh, oh, take it easy, Diver: let’s behave like gentlemen,” he said calmly, as he approached. “Tell me, namesake, and be sincere. Did Diver tell you where the sokwata was?”

I petrified and glanced at Diver before I lied:

“No.”

The red-headed elf grabbed me by the arm and slammed me against a wall. I didn’t feel that he was exactly acting “like a gentleman”. He hissed:

“I said, be sincere. He confessed. And if it wasn’t you who stole the sokwata, then you must have told the Black Cat.”

I looked at him in horror.

“We were robbed of the sokwata?”

This time it was Syrdio who took me by the other arm and squeezed it so that I let out a groan of pain.

“Admit it, Sharpy: you betrayed us.”

I shook my head, bewildered.

“No! That’s not true! I’ve been with Diver all afternoon. I just got back—”

“Don’t deny it: the sokwata is gone!” Syrdio roared.

I saw a glint of panic in his eyes, and I knew that no reasonable argument would convince him. I still shouted:

“I didn’t betray you!”

And I struggled to free myself. Swift stepped aside, but Syrdio did not, and Manras threw himself on the latter, punching him on the shoulder and shouting:

“Get off him, isturbag!”

Without letting go of me, Syrdio struck him with his free hand. This was more than I could bear. That he would come after me, okay, but that he would come after my comrades? No even in his dreams! Out of my mind, I rushed at Syrdio, clawing him and throwing him to the ground.

“Traitor!” he shouted at me.

“You crazy bastard!” I said.

To my pride, though Syrdio was older, he did not prevail over me. We were separated. Swift took me by the waist and, though I continued to struggle, he lifted me into the air before setting me down a few feet away with a bellowing:

“That’s enough. Listen to me: whether you stole it or not, until we get the sokwata back, you’re out. Do you understand me?”

I did not answer him. I glared at Syrdio, took a few steps back, surrounded by Manras and Dil, and with a proud pout turned my back on them all and limped away. Little Prince cleared his throat as we walked away.

“Didn’t you say fighting was only good for isturbags?”

I could hear a hint of amusement in his voice. I sighed loudly and massaged my jaw.

“I did say that. But the thing is, I am a true savage. I come from the mountains, I have an excuse.”

And I grumbled against Syrdio for a long time. I only fell silent when we entered The Drawer to ask Sham for dinner. Though people were celebrating the festivities all over town, in this tavern there was more reverence for cards and worldly things than for the ancestors, and so there was the same noisy, familiar atmosphere as usual. A nail-pincher would have thought the place a den of delinquents; to me it was almost a family. I used to come here for dinner almost every night with my cronies, and everyone there treated me well. My mood at the moment, however, was not particularly cheerful, and to the “ayo, bard!” some of them threw at me, I replied half-heartedly with an “ayo, ayo”.

“You look like you’ve run into a red nadre, kiddo!” the tall dark elf said to me as he set three dishes of porridge on the counter.

I elbowed Manras when I saw him smile and grabbed a plate, replying:

“Not a red nadre, no, it was a bipedal cat with phalanges and non-retractable claws.”

The tavern filled with laughter.

“He’s coming out with such words!” the old Fieronilles praised, mockingly. “But where did you study, boy, at Deriens?”

“At the school of the street!” I said.

I smiled as I saw them all laughing at my joke, and I gulped down the porridge, and licked the plate, and as Dil chewed with the speed of a snail, Manras and I wandered between the tables looking at the cards of those who were playing, listening to the betting, and the loud voices, and the jibes, and little by little I became drowsy. I was sitting on the floor, yawning and stroking Chestnut, old Fieronilles’ dog, when the door opened suddenly and a whole gang of people came in talking animatedly.

“It’s clear there was a fight!” one said. “What do you bet it was Frashluc?”

And another, a certain Lotto the Tinkerer, announced:

“Guess what, you guys! There’s a party at the Ojisaries. We heard them bellowing from Wool Square.”

As they all asked for more details, the newcomers complied, but it wasn’t much: they just knew that there had been a mess in Ojisary territory. One said it was just an argument between them, another bet his eyes that the people of Frashluc had given them a warning for not paying enough taxes, and others thought it most likely that they were uncorking bottles to celebrate their cursed ancestors over a mountain of siatos. I listened attentively, and then, realizing that I was not going to learn anything more about the subject by standing there, I got up, pulled Dil by the sleeve, and the three of us walked out towards the Cave. I didn’t know whether Frashluc, that big kap of the Labyrinth, might have any interest in attacking the Black Hawk—some even said he had better not—but what I did know was that the regulars in The Drawer made up a thousand stories out of rumors. In any case, if there had been a ruckus among the Ojisaries, it was also possible that Yerris and Sla had carried out their plan without warning us. Unless the gwaks in the well managed to escape some other time, but that last possibility seemed unlikely.

The Soothsayer and the Mole were already in the Cave, fast asleep. My comrades stayed inside, but I went out into the Reeking Alley again, not quite sure what to do. To prowl again in Ojisary territory and risk getting caught? No, no way I’d do that, I thought, shivering. I crossed the little wooden bridge, went down the narrow stairs, and sat down on the steps to wait for the Black Cat and Sla. I waited a long time. Nothing. Well, it was no wonder; lately, we hardly saw them, and they didn’t always come to sleep with us, but… hell, if they had tried something and the Ojisaries had captured them… I despaired just thinking about it. After all, I didn’t think the Ojisaries would show them any compassion.

I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I was slow to notice the bulky figure coming down the alley at a run, and I leapt to my feet to avoid it trampling on me. For a terrible moment, I thought it was an Ojisary. But then I heard him mutter a curse, saw his face, recognized him, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Black Cat!” I whispered. “Phew, I thought they killed you.”

The semi-gnome gasped, catching his breath, before saying:

“Sharpy. I need your help.”

These words brought a hopeful smile to my face.

“For real?”

“For real,” he confirmed.

And he gave me one of the two bags he was carrying. I whistled through my teeth.

“What’s in there, hydra heads?”

“Explosive magaras.” I looked at him, my eyes wide, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”