34. Raspberries taste better in prison

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

“Where is Le Bor?”

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

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

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

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

“Where is Le Bor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I understand.”

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

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

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

“You’re a pity, Four-Hundred.”

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

“What was that?” he asked.

I gave him a surprised look.

“Don’t you know what karuja is?”

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

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

Farigo rolled his eyes.

“Is it that bad?”

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

Farigo came to life.

“Ragingly!”

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

* * *

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

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

I smiled broadly and replied:

“Natural: I’m a gwak Cat.”

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

“Two hundred and three!”

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

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

“Three hundred and sixty-seven!”

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

“Get moving!” a guard called out.

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

“I’m going up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Le Bor rolled his eyes.

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

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

“Happy Innocents’ Day, shyur.”

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

“Dig in.”

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

“Thank you.”

I shrugged and smiled at him.

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

My stomach churned.

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

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

I looked thoughtful and accepted the argument.

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

Le Bor gave me a mocking look.

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

I finished my soup and decided to change the subject.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I wasn’t working for anyone.”

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

“I believe you.”

I turned to him in surprise. Le Bor smiled.

“That’s why… I repeat my advice.”

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

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

Crooked Foot and Heretic stirred nervously.

“Where?” the former asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no! I will never forgeeeet!

O dear companion of my life,

that we shared the same bread

and almost the same bed.

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

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

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

Except they came.

Among them, a Black Dagger.