32. A bard in a net of flies

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, right.”

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

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

“I came to say goodbye.”

I blinked.

“What? Where are you going?”

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

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

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

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

I huffed and gave him a shove. He laughed.

“Well, well. How are you doing?”

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

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

I shivered.

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

Yerris smiled.

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

He handed me three black pills.

“Well, thank you!” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“YOU SAVAGE!”

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

“That bastard!” I bellowed.

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

“Nail-pinching murderer!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Run!” I shouted.

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

“Empty your pockets. Right now!”

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

“How’s your arm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ayo.”

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

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

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

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

“You, kid. What’s your name?”

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

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

I clung to the bars while the fly wrote.

“Family name?”

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

“Boy: I asked you your family name.”

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

“Hilemplert.”

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

“Date of birth?”

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

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

The fly shook his head as he wrote.

“Day and moon of birth?”

I sighed.

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

“Names of your parents?” the scribe continued.

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

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

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

“I work, sir. I’m not a vagrant.”

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

“What is your occupation?” the fly inquired.

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

“I see. And you make a living at it?”

“Yes, sir.”

The officer looked me up and down.

“Good. For now, that will be all.”

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

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

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

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

I gave him a mocking smile.

“Sure, right away, sir ruffian.”

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

“Learn to respect your elders, rascal.”

“Isturbag,” I muttered.

“What did you say?”

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

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

To La-Bali,

To La-Bali,

I want to go to La-Bali.

The party is going to start,

and I want to go out!

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

Oh, dear Mom, they put me in jaiiil!

’Cause I’m a scamp with no nail!

And a scamp I am all right,

that’s why I’m being quodded,

and I can’t escape for life.

Larilon, lariliew,

Rascal of Karateliew.

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

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

But I continued:

Oh, sweetheart, oh, my friend,

I remember you so pretty.

But don’t wait for me, no more, my love.

I’ll never leave this time.

Such a lovely home they gave me, my dearest!

I’ll go out with a wooden habeas!

Larilon, lariliew,

Rascal of Karateliew.

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

“Mothers of the Light…”

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

Nobody goes out of my home,

Four sides and three walls only,

but hard stems grow on the fourth,

that won’t bend no matter how hard you hit them.

I kicked a bar. And I continued:

Larilon, lariliew,

Rascal of Karateliew.

When they let me starve,

they say I’m a glutton,

that there’s no worse lout

than the one who pigs out.

Dandindar, dandinder,

here comes the undertaker!

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

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

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

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

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

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

I go siiiinging through the fields.

Through Arkolda I go singing.

I go alone with the world,

singing, my heart full of love.

Life is so beautiful!

This jewel that sometimes cries,

sometimes cries,

and sometimes laughs with delight.

You made me happy, life.

You made me happy,

oh life, Gem, Moon, Candle, star,

you made me fall in love with the world

and you left me with a smile,

tender as a flower,

brave as a dragon.

I go siiiinging through the fields.

Through Arkolda I go singing.

Plenty of dreams on my shoulders,

I fulfill them with my songs.

Oh Arkoldian comrade…!

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

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

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

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

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

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