50. The Wind Tear and the lady

Frashluc sent me with Jarvik to get some supplies, and as soon as I got up, Lowen, the grandson, asked his grandfather for permission to go with us. The grandfather gave it to him. The three of us went down a number of stairs to a room where Jarvik handed me back my prison release booklet and the knives Rogan had bought the day before. He presented me with a set of picklocks, and Lowen wanted to lend me some gloves that he said had belonged to a notorious thief from Veliria. Unsurprisingly, they proved too big for me, and the Albino had to put them back in a trunk.

“That’s a real shame,” Lowen sighed. “You would have looked really cool with them!”

I looked at him curiously, and suddenly I thought that the boy, far from wanting to make fun of me, was trying to fraternize with me. Fraternize with me! He who was dressed as if he were going to run for Parliament!

As the Albino was busy closing the trunk, Lowen approached me and whispered:

“Hey, tell me…”

“What?”

“Is it true that you created shadows?”

His eyes shone with curiosity. I nodded casually.

“Well, natural I did.”

He smiled, excited.

“Will you show me?”

I arched an eyebrow, and after checking that Jarvik’s back was to us, I created a small cloud of darkness. A very small cloud, because my energy stem was still moribund. Lowen’s face lit up nonetheless. He glanced quickly at Jarvik and whispered:

“Can you speak Owram?”

I squinted an eye. Was he trying to tell me something he didn’t want the Albino to understand? I shrugged.

“No. That’s the language of nail-pinchers.”

I said it in a slightly scornful tone, but Lowen Frashluc took no offence. He nodded, smiled, and with the proud expression of one who utters a new word, he replied:

“Natural.”

Amused, I returned his smile and looked him up and down. He didn’t look like a bad guy, despite his attire. Taking advantage of the fact that the Albino was pushing the trunk under a piece of furniture, Lowen said to me so low that even I almost didn’t hear him:

“Say. Can I go with you? To steal the Wind Tear. I want to go with you,” he reaffirmed.

I stared at him. He wanted to help me steal the diamond? Once the surprise wore off, I frowned, looked unconvinced, and then answered:

“You know where Rogan is? My mate,” I specified. He nodded with a mixture of fear and excitement in his eyes. Without thinking much about it, I decided, “Well, bring him whatever he asks. If you do, I’ll take you with me. Does it run?”

Lowen opened his mouth, saw that the Albino was already heading across the room towards us, and nodded.

“Okay. My room is on the first floor, near the old cherry tree. It has red curtains.”

I hardly suppressed a smile and nodded. He hesitated before extending a hand like a gentleman. My smile widened, and I shook it. He was wearing gloves.

“Eh. Give me your gloves and I may even call you mate,” I said.

“No way,” the Albino interjected, joining us. “Don’t give him anything, Lowen. Surely you don’t want to displease your mother.”

The little nail-pincher, who had already started to take off his gloves, put them back on, looking half saddened and half frightened. I rolled my eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” I assured him. “It was just to replace the gloves of the famous thief Kaproko… Kapre…”

“Karabi,” Lowen helped me, chuckling.

The Albino cleared his throat with a patient pout.

“Let’s get out, boys,” he urged us.

We left the room, and the Albino led us to the main door. He put a coin in my hand. It was a gold coin.

“In case you need to buy something else. Remember, the longer it takes, the worse it’ll be for you. Good luck.”

I saw a glint of compassion in his eyes. Strangely enough, this worried me more than any threat. I glanced at Lowen and saw that he, on the other hand, seemed hopeful. With a pout, I slipped the coin into one of my pockets, turned the door handle, and said in a low tone, addressing no one in particular:

“Ah, if anything happens to my comrade, I’ll roar like a dragon, is that clear? Ayo.”

And I got out. I almost stopped dead when I saw that the Stone Park lay in front of me. Gosh. I turned around. The building where Frashluc lived was right on the border between the quarter of Atuerzo and the Cats. I didn’t know if that was where Rogan was. Who knows, maybe they had transported me asleep through the entire Cat Quarter. Or maybe not. I had no idea. In any case, I doubted that the night before Frashluc had brought his entire retinue of traitors through that door. I turned my head to the right, to the left, and saw that there was indeed a cherry tree growing there, in a small green space near the house. And that the window in front of it, on the first floor, had red curtains. I breathed in the cold afternoon air. Well. The little nail-pincher had better take care of the Priest like a king.

I walked away down the wide street that surrounded the park, down the stairs, and into the Cat Quarter. The first thing I did was to go to The Wind Rose and ask for: a snack, Mr. Tavern-keeper! And I put the goldy on the counter. He gave me back eighty-five cents, and I walked out of there tearing fierce bites out of my meal. Good mother, I was so hungry! So hungry, in fact, that when I passed a sweet shop, I went in, bought a few and gobbled them up on my way to the river to replenish my supply of asofla. I went down and down and down the Rock, with a step that was more steady than energetic. By the time I reached the bottom, it was already dark. The asofla was growing in great quantities on the bank just beside the Moon Bridge. It was deserted, for there was no dyke or promenade, but small vegetable gardens, trees, and brushwood. I hurried to pick the asofla, and no sooner had I put a stalk in my mouth than I heard a loud voice:

“Hey!”

A dark elf wearing peasant clothes came out of a vegetable garden and rushed towards me shouting like a desperate man:

“Spit it out, you idiot, it’s poison!”

I legged it. I ran, scraped my skin against the brushes, poked my foot with something, and finally arrived at the Moon Square. To my amazement, the man kept shouting behind me. Demons, how could that elf be so worried about my health?

Hearing the shouts and seeing me being chased, a fly came running with the clear intention of trying to stop me. I avoided him, stumbled on another fly, and put my hands to my head, shouting:

“A madman’s chasing me! A madman’s chasing me!”

The fly on which I stumbled took me by the arm and shook me so that I would stop screaming. Finally, I fell silent. And it was fortunate, because, thanks to the silence, the peasant was able to explain that no, I was not a thief, that he had merely seen me eat a poisonous plant.

“Asofla, the devil’s hand!” the peasant explained, altered. “Please don’t harm the poor boy.”

The officer was not harming me: he was just holding me tightly. Without retort, he reached into my most bountiful pocket, from which stems were protruding, and pulled out a handful of asofla. At once, an expression of pure amazement came over his face. He stared at me, looked at his companion, and then back at me again. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“Whoa, whoa. My boy. That’s poison. I can’t believe you didn’t know that. And, if you did know, that definitely means that—”

“Do you have parents?” the companion questioned, interrupting the other fly.

I nodded without thinking and frowned in surprise. Spirits, it felt so weird to say I had parents…

“Where do they live?” asked the fly that held me. As I did not answer, he repeated his question. And, as if inspired by a sudden idea, he added, “If you don’t answer, we’ll have to find out for ourselves, and your parents will pay the expenses. You don’t want them to lose money because of you, do you?”

I shook my head, confused.

“No, sir. But I—”

“The address, kid,” the fly insisted.

His voice had softened. He was friendly and all, and in the end, I felt unable not to answer and said:

“Sunset Street, number twelve, in the Tarmil Quarter. But, sir, they don’t…”

The fly gently nudged me.

“Let’s go, kid. And quietly.”

I glanced grudgingly at the altruistic peasant who was responsible for all this, and followed the fly to the Moon Square nervously. The fly urged me to take a passing omnibus. We got on. I couldn’t believe it: it was my first time on an omnibus! Unfortunately, the trip was a real torture for me. Why had I given the barber’s address to the fly? Why had he insisted on taking me there? It was better than Carnation, of course, but… I was sure it meant a definitive “goodbye, family”. I wanted to jump out of the car and run away, but the fly was sitting next to me. He would have grabbed me immediately and, who knows, maybe he would have gotten angry and had the idea to search me. And then he would have found the picklocks and the two knives. And, bang, back to Carnation for who knows how long.

The Avenue was crowded with people going up and down, talking in small groups, going in and out of taverns. We got off. There was still light in the shop, and through the window I could see that the barber was combing the hair of an old man who seemed to me to be almost bald.

“Hold still,” the fly demanded, looking exasperated.

I stopped fidgeting, and my heart began to beat faster when the fly knocked on the door. It was Samfen who opened it.

“Good evening, boy. May I speak to your father?” the fly asked.

Samfen was speechless. Finally, he managed to stammer out:

“F-Father? It’s the police.”

After a moment’s silence, we heard footsteps approaching rapidly, and the barber appeared. His eyes pierced me like arrows. Only a few seconds. But the seconds seemed like centuries. Then he looked around the street, looked very gloomy, perhaps because there was some neighbor watching the scene with curiosity, and then he spoke to the fly, wished him “good evening” in a voice from beyond the grave, and invited him to pass. We went in. The fly told him what had happened in the tone of one who says: your son tried to commit suicide, but don’t worry, it’s not so serious, surely a good beating will fix everything, I’m sure you’re a good father. The barber paid for the omnibus rides and the “inconvenience”, the fly patted me gently on the shoulder and walked away, leaving me to face the terrible look of the barber, the frown of the old customer, and the shocked expression of Samfen. I did not open my mouth. The customer hurried out of there, and no doubt bringing forward the closing time, the barber turned the sign to close the shop, pushing the locks, pulling the curtains, and telling Samfen to take the lantern. Then he pointed to the door at the back of the room with an imperative finger.

I went forward thinking that, if a look could kill, at that moment I would have been spirited in a peace-and-virtue.

The dining room was empty except for the nine-year-old—or so—little brother, who was sitting at the table, writing in a notebook, looking bored. He looked at us as we entered, his eyes wide.

“Sarova, go to your room,” the father ordered.

Quickly, the boy picked up his notebook, inkwell, and quill, and walked out with Samfen without a word. The barber and I were left alone. I did not lose sight of him. And with good reason. The barber went round the table and came back with long strides.

“Stupid kid!” he burst out. “You think these are ways to get attention? Trying to kill yourself? Do you even realize what it means to kill yourself, boy?” He came up in front of me and stopped, his expression half disbelieving, half angry. “Well done. I lost almost everything I earned today to pay for your stupidity! Maybe you think my kids are rich because they have a home? And my customer and the whole neighborhood…”

He suffocated. I was suffocating inside, too. As soon as I saw his hand approaching, I escaped, ran around the table, and as the barber ordered me to stop, I took out some coins which I had in my pocket:

“This is for you, sir. For you and my little brothers and sisters…”

I hurriedly took out all the coins I had, including the candy I had left, and left it all on the table. There, everything for my family. Then, cautious, I looked up and looked the barber in the eye. I looked like a beaten dog and confessed, trying to make him feel sorry for me, but with complete honesty:

“I didn’t want to be sent to the poorhouse!”

The barber was shaking his head, looking as if he were trying to calm himself and could not. Finally, he grabbed me by the neck, pushed me across half the room, opened a door, and shoved me inside, saying:

“If you try to kill yourself now, I’ll send you to the charity house myself. And the same if you open your mouth,” he warned me, seeing that I was indeed opening it.

I closed it, he shut the door; I even heard a key turn in the lock. And the footsteps went away. All around me was darkness. The faint light that came through the crack under the door barely lit anything. And with my burned-out energy stem, I dared not cast any spell. I groped around. It turned out I was in some sort of storeroom. Wherever I stepped, I bumped into something. At last, I sat down, hugged my knees, and cursed the flies, some for stealing and catching you, and others for spoiling your afternoon by trying to do good.

Blasthell.

I was seized by sneezes. Everything there smelled old. My hand touched something soft, and I imagined that I had been locked in with a monster. Then the monster turned into a corpse, and after a while my horror was so great that I decided to cast a little harmonic light, and I saw that the monster was, in fact, a basket with balls of wool, red ones, black ones, blue ones… My spell unravelled, and I said to myself: never again. Never again would I use harmonies. They were playing tricks on me, drawing squirrels and nakrus skeletons before my eyes, making me more delirious than passwhite and leaving me exhausted.

“Never again,” I murmured softly.

Time passed. The dining room filled with voices. A child shouted, “Mili! Mili!”. My mother’s voice imposed silence. There was the sound of cutlery, quieter voices, throat clearing. And then I could make out a:

“What are you going to do with him?”

There was silence, a loud sigh, and the barber’s strained reply:

“What do you want me to do. For now, tonight, he stays here.”

I shook my head. Staying here? No way. I wasn’t going to stay here locked up. Simply because I had to wake up Little Wolf’s morjas. And I had to go see my cronies. And steal a diamond for the biggest kap in the Cats. And go pick some asofla. Among other things. So, no, I wasn’t going to stay at the barber shop…

The key turned in the lock, and I looked up in surprise. I blinked and could barely see my mother’s expression before she leaned over to leave me a bowl. She seemed to be about to say something, but after a brief silence, she took a deep breath, stepped back in confusion, and closed the door, leaving me blind again.

In the dining room, the voices were now silent. My brothers had retired to their rooms, my parents to theirs, and… I to mine. I rolled my eyes, reached out, and retrieved the bowl. It was still warm. Despite the afternoon snack, I was still hungry, and I did not disdain the soup. I drank the whole thing. It wasn’t very hearty, but it tasted delicious.

After setting the empty bowl down, I stood up. I felt around for the door. I found the lock, examined it, and praying that I might not break it, I took out a picklock and began to work like the good Black Dagger that I was.

It took me a long time, but I opened it. I pushed the door open. It creaked, and I grimaced…

“Ashig?”

I jumped up. The murmur came from the right, just below a window with closed shutters. I saw a form lying on a straw mattress. Oh, no…

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“Sam,” he replied. “Samfen. You scared me to death. How…? How did you get out?”

I swallowed.

“Uh… It was open,” I lied. I quickly hid the picklock and added, “I’m leaving. I’ve got to get out.”

Samfen had risen, wrapped in his blanket. He groped his way over.

“Ashig. I don’t think that’s a good idea. At this time of day… people don’t go out, you understand me? Don’t go out. Father will get mad.”

“He already got mad,” I replied. “And he doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him either. I’m leaving.”

The door leading to the shop was open. I headed that way. Samfen followed me.

“Wait, that’s not true!” he whispered to me. “Before, I heard Father and Mother talking. Father says that… Uh… Well. They say that…”

He was silent. I had stopped near the exit door. Samfen had piqued my curiosity.

“They say what?” I asked.

Samfen hesitated.

“They say that maybe they can do something for you. That it will be better than doing nothing. That’s what they were saying. Please, Ashig,” he insisted. “Don’t go away.”

I swallowed and slid the lock open. Samfen tried to stop me, and I pushed him as I used to do with any gwak who bothered me, not hard, not gentle, but firm. My reaction seemed to hurt him. Without interfering further, he protested:

“Ashig…”

I opened the door, and there was a jingle of bells. I turned pale and looked up at the thing hanging just outside the door. Good mother, I hadn’t thought of that. Samfen said in a low voice:

“You know? I always thought we lost you because of me. Because I was sick, and you went to get the syrup and… Well, I mean… Don’t get lost again.”

For a moment, I was left speechless, even moved. But I could not wait any longer, for perhaps the barber had heard the bell. I stirred.

“I’m sorry, Samfen. I can’t stay. Really.” I stepped outside. Good mother, how cold it was on the street… I added, “Look, it’s not your fault I got lost. It was… because of the storm, the Cold One, the snow, what do I know, anyway… it wasn’t your fault.”

Suddenly, I heard footsteps and saw a light appear in the dining room. I snorted and legged it at full speed, limping a little, for my left foot was sore—something had got stuck in it during the last escapade with the peasant. Nothing serious, I supposed, but it was bothersome.

The wind was wintry, it was snowing, and the streets were almost deserted. When I entered the Cat Quarter, I searched for a hiding place in the Labyrinth for quite a while before I finally decided to leave my picklocks and knives in a rocky hollow at the end of a dead end. The first bell of the night had just rung when I arrived at The Joyful Spirit, frozen, soaked, and shivering. I did not enter the tavern: I bypassed it, entered the dead end, climbed the old stairs, and knocked on the door of Le Bor.

I pressed my ear to the wood and was about to knock again when I heard a muffled voice:

“Who is it?”

“F-Four-Hund-dred,” I said through chattering teeth.

The cold chilled my bones. There was a sound of locks, and the door opened.

“Four-Hundred,” Le Bor snorted. He hesitated. “So, in the end, they didn’t catch you. What’s the matter?”

I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking from head to toe.

“C-Can I come in?”

Le Bor sighed and nodded, stepping aside. I entered, and he hurriedly closed the door to keep out the cold. The first thing I saw was the stove giving off heat. Then the blond boy, who was sleeping placidly in the middle of a pile of blankets not far from it. I cried out:

“Little Wolf!”

And I rushed over. He was asleep, but what did that matter. I took him by the chest, hugged him, and with great care awakened the morjas in his bones. I tried to use as little energy as possible. Little Wolf did not even wake up completely: he moved his head and his hand a little, but he did not open his eyes. He looked so happy!

“Who the hell is that kid?” a voice suddenly asked.

I raised my head slightly and opened my eyes wide when I saw her. Her. The Lady of Le Bor. The Queen of Estergat. The champion of the cards. She had just slipped out of bed without any shyness, and I saw her put on a white nightgown and slippers while Le Bor answered with an embarrassed look:

“It’s Four-Hundred. I’ve told you about him before. He—”

“Of course you told me about him!” she cried. “But look at him! He’s shaking with cold! Come here, little one. Come here.”

Dumbfounded, I left Little Wolf lying there and accepted the hand the lady held out to me. I stood up. To my amazement, she began to rub my hands, looking very sorry.

“His hands are freezing! Did you see that, honey? Poor thing. And to think you saved my Shyuli from jail! It was you who filed the bars, wasn’t it? You did, didn’t you?”

I felt her warm hand on my cheek, and her emerald green eyes suddenly seemed incredibly beautiful.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, smiling at such a warm welcome. “It was me.”

She shook her head, moved.

“You don’t have anywhere to go, do you?”

I nodded, and the lady continued to caress my forehead, neck, and chin, while saying:

“Poor thing. And with this cold weather! Of course we’re not going to leave you outside. You want to sleep somewhere warm, don’t you?”

“Ah, well, I do, ma’am,” I confessed.

She gave me a charming smile, took off the soaked coat, and said to Le Bor:

“Go get some water to heat it up.”

Le Bor snorted, uncomfortable.

“Honey, you’re not going to wash him now, are you?”

“He’s dirtier than a rat, of course I’ll wash him now! Go get some water,” she ordered.

Le Bor sighed, but to my surprise, he obeyed and went out with two buckets. Then the lady began to take off my clothes, and as she did so, she said to me:

“Good thing you were there to get Shyuli out of Carnation. I always tell him to watch his tongue. Insults are fine between friends, but not to rich people you don’t know. But, anyway, how thin you are! Have you eaten anything today?”

Fearing that her compassion would wane, I lied and said:

“No, ma’am.”

To my delight, she lamented:

“Nothing at all? You must be starving! As soon as Shyuli comes back, I’ll send for food,” she promised me.

I smiled and thought that, in the end, tonight, I was going to eat more than I ever had. The lady ran warm fingers over one of my bruises. She frowned, but only asked:

“Does it hurt?”

“No, ma’am, hardly,” I said, playing hard to get. A little compassion was good, but too much could be bad, too… And I admitted: “But my foot hurts. This one. The left one.”

I showed her the sole of my foot, and she said with a grimace:

“Oh dear… Looks like you stepped on something nasty, huh? That’s gotta hurt.” She squeezed with her fingernails, and I screamed. “Hey, hey, don’t complain. I’ve got it out. See? It’s a thorn from… uh… Who knows. Don’t worry, as soon as the water comes, I’ll cure it for you: I have jarafel. Jarafel cures everything!” She smiled and added curiously, “What’s all this?”

She was referring to my necklaces. Smiling again, I explained, taking them one by one:

“These are my amulets. This one is my amulet from when I was a little boy. It brings me luck. And with this one I pray to the Patron Saint. This one is a gift from my best friend. The blue one, it’s Little Wolf’s. I keep it for him just in case. And this one is so that the wolves won’t attack me.”

“I see you have more protection than a saint!” the lady laughed. “And where is this best friend?”

I opened my mouth. I closed it again. And I lowered my eyes to the ground. I didn’t dare tell her that Rogan had fallen to Frashluc. And that it was my fault. Interpreting my silence, the lady looked moved and embraced me, placing a soft kiss on my forehead.

“My poor little one,” she murmured.

She wrapped me in a large blanket and began to chat while putting more coal in the stove. I don’t know what she was talking about; I just listened to her cheerful voice, still transfixed by her embrace and her emerald eyes. When Le Bor returned, the lady put the water on the stove and sent her lover to get some food. He rolled his eyes but made no comment and left again. When the water was hot, the lady poured it into a large basin and said to me:

“Take off that blanket and get in there.”

I obeyed, and the beautiful lady began to soap me herself. I didn’t particularly like her shaking me with her sponge, she scrubbed very hard, the soap tasted like the devil, and it stung my eyes. When I began to fidget, to protect my face, and to mumble some “ma’am…” and “what the blasthell…”, the lady clicked her tongue and said to me: don’t move and shut up. I don’t know if it was because I was afraid that the lady of Le Bor would get angry, she who was so kind to me, but I remained very straight and kept quiet like a hero. At last, the witch threw a bucket of water over my head, just like that, without warning or anything. I screamed with a start and heard a great burst of laughter.

“I’m afraid you’ve already traumatized the boy,” Le Bor commented, amused. He arrived with a tray laden with food and placed it on the table, adding, “I remember my mother doing exactly the same thing to me. It was torture! When I tried to run away, she would chase me with the soap. One day I had pissed her off so much that she made me swallow it, did I ever tell you that, my queen?”

I breathed in the good smell and immediately my mouth watered. This tray smelled wonderful. The queen laughed as she dried my ears with a towel:

“Ah, I’m not surprised, you must have been a devil when you were a kid. You haven’t changed at all,” she joked.

“What do you mean, I haven’t changed?” Le Bor replied, feigning indignation. “If you were chasing me with the soap, I wouldn’t run away, I assure you.”

He came forward, taking the queen by the waist with evident passion. She, however, broke away, protesting:

“Behave yourself, darling. We have a guest.” And, after looking me up and down with a critical expression, she smiled, looking satisfied, wrapped the towel around me, and said, “Dinner is ready.”

I jumped out of the tub and sat down to eat the soup and a piece of trout. While I ate, the lady was busy smearing the sole of my foot with a yellowish substance. Le Bor was drumming on the table, obviously exasperated by all this profusion of kindness which was not directed at him.

When I finished, the lady took out a deck of cards, and Le Bor snorted.

“You wash him, you feed him, you take thorns out of his foot… and now you want to play cards?”

“What’s the matter, darling? You wouldn’t be jealous, by any chance?” the lady teased.

She sat down at the table with the elegance of a queen, and began to deal with such rapidity that it seemed a prodigy. While we played, the lady kept on babbling: she talked about certain games that were very popular in casinos all over Estergat, about unknown people, about balls, about betting… She even revealed to me a trick for bevelling the cards, which I learned so quickly that she showered me with praise.

As the queen was unable to play without betting, we made a bet as to who would or would not sleep in the bed. Le Bor lost, and under his murderous gaze, I assured him that I didn’t mind sleeping on the floor next to Little Wolf. But the lady did not like to break the rules of betting. When I argued that there was room for the three of us, Le Bor commented through his teeth:

“You’re not making it any better, Four-Hundred.”

I gave him an apologetic pout, and he shook his head in resignation. Incredible fact: the lady was the only person I knew who could bend Le Bor’s sensitive nature. Dear Shyuli slept by the stove in Little Wolf’s blankets, and I moved Little Wolf into the bed between the lady and myself. I felt so embarrassed about Le Bor that I could hardly fall asleep. But finally I managed to relax, and slept like a blessed soul.