61. A mentor, a corpse, and a brother

“Go ahead.”

Korther’s voice was dry. Always dry. Always distant. I’d been going to the Black Daggers’ Hostel every day for two weeks, spending hours in the kap’s presence and even more doing my homework, deactivating and activating traps, casting harmonies, perfecting my spells… and nothing, Korther hadn’t made the slightest gesture to suggest he’d forgiven me. He was teaching me out of pure professional interest. But deep down, he despised me. I could feel it. Despite all my attempts to do everything right, to listen to him, to show my repentance, he did not forgive me for my betrayal.

I reached my right hand towards the lock and immediately perceived the spell. A trap? The pattern was complicated. I tried to understand it. It was unlike any I’d seen before. And to think that Yal had been drumming into my head so many tracings…! Well, I had ended up learning almost as much in two weeks as I had in a year.

I could feel the Black Dagger’s gaze on me from time to time. He was reading the newspaper The Estergatese. The biggest headline said:

‘Violent protests in the Cats district before an imminent vote in Parliament.’

Ironic as it may seem, lately I was only aware of what was going on in my neighborhood thanks to what I was told by my comrades and Le Bor. There had been some casualties, many arrests, illegal items confiscated, and many more malcontents. The flies had even gotten into The Blue Flame to disturb Yarras’ cousins. And they had arrested Sham, the tavern-keeper at The Drawer, for being involved in an arms deal. The Cats were furious, and with good reason: the progressives in Parliament wanted to demolish the lower part of the Cats, and under the pretext of wanting to put an end to the smuggling rings and provide a more dignified life for the poor, they were going to pass the decree in five days. And three days before that, that is, the day after tomorrow… if all went well, the Solance would disappear from the Estergat Palace along with the treasure of the vaults. If all went well.

I forced myself to concentrate on the lock. Korther kept increasing the difficulty. A few minutes earlier, I’d managed to disable a particularly complicated trap, and Korther had even nodded to show me that he’d seen it. That was the closest show of approval I’d seen so far in those two weeks.

The fire in the fireplace was sparking. Aberyl was sitting by it, knitting with two large needles while reading a book. I would have liked to ask him what he was going to make with that black ball of yarn and what the book he was reading was about, but whenever a question came to my mind that had nothing to do with the lesson, I kept it to myself. I had become a diligent, obedient, and… terribly shy student. A student who secretly hoped that Korther would eventually say: “Listen, lad, I know how I’m going to punish you, you’re going to spend a year scrubbing pots and pans and then I’ll forgive you.” And I would have done it willingly! But Korther never said anything other than: sit down, do this, do that, listen, you’re not doing it right, that’s how you do it. He hardly ever called me “lad” anymore.

Focus, Mor-eldal, I scolded myself. I closed my eyes and looked for some clue in the plot as to where the central mechanism was and how I could deactivate it without getting a shock or who knows what. In the past two weeks, despite my best efforts, I had already received more than one. Usually this happened when I had already been working for too many hours, exhaustion prevented me from thinking properly, and, bang, I blundered. Then Korther would say to me, without even looking at me: “Recite the route and come back tomorrow”.

Fortunately, I finally found something that vaguely resembled a tracing I knew. I could be wrong, but… I went for it. I felt my way through the energy threads and almost activated the trap, but after a few moments, I managed to break some of the links. And I deactivated it… Did I? Really? Yes.

I let out a sigh of relief, opened my eyes, and left the magara on the table without saying a word. Korther picked it up, tested it, and put it back on the table.

“Recite the route,” he said.

I looked at him, troubled. He usually asked me that at the end, when he sent me away because I had done something wrong. Had I not deactivated the magara properly? I breathed in and recited the route:

“I go to the round turret, enter through the skylight using the hydra blood powder, open the first door, go straight to the back, turn right, then go straight to the stairs going up…”

I kept saying: left, right, straight ahead… Korther was checking my litany on the map. I didn’t know how he got a map of the Palace, but I wasn’t surprised either. He knew what kind of traps I might encounter and how many night guards were watching the place.

I was in the middle of my monologue when the door suddenly opened. I turned and… saw Yalet. My cousin made an embarrassed face.

“Oh, sorry, I thought you were done. I’ll wait outside,” he said with a clearing of his throat.

“That won’t be necessary,” Korther assured. “We’re almost finished. Sit down. And bar that door.”

Yal nodded, closed the door, greeted Aberyl, and went to sit at the table. I hadn’t seen my master since I spoke with him at the Capitol. Did he know about the Solance? I swallowed, and as Korther looked at me, impatient, I tried to remember where I had left off.

“I open the third door on the right. I go down the stairs. And—and I arrive at the Solance room. No,” I corrected myself hastily. “Before that, I have to open a gate, with hydra blood too. If there’s a guard there, I use the satranin before he raises the alarm. Once there’s no one left, I open the doors of the treasure chambers. Now I touch nothing but the Solance. I take it. I open the locks on the north wing service door, disable the traps, and give the signal for you to enter. Ah, and I leave the traps disabled.”

I fell silent. I hoped that Korther would not ask me to repeat the whole thing. He asked:

“What are you opening the doors with?”

“With the picklock coated with the golden potion,” I replied. “The golden potion neutralizes the energies, and the traps do not activate.”

“But you know how to deactivate traps. So why use it?” Korther insisted.

“Because I have to act very quickly,” I replied at once.

There was silence. Then Korther folded the map, folded The Estergatese, and put his hands together on the table.

“Ab, want to join us?”

“With pleasure,” Aberyl replied. He left his needles, his ball of yarn, and his book, stretched, yawned behind his muffler, and went to sit casually on the one chair still free, declaiming, “And here are the four thieves of the Solance, hovering between life and death. An epic moment.”

He took off his muffler and revealed a slight mocking smile directed at Korther. Korther huffed and turned to Yal.

“Did you bring the newspaper of the first Mistday, boy?” My cousin nodded and took it out. Korther looked through it, found what he was looking for, and approved. “Perfect.” He tossed the paper, and it landed on the table, right under my nose. “Read this, lad. Second column, at the very bottom.”

Under the gaze of the three Black Daggers, I frowned in puzzlement and glanced at the article. So much effort in disabling traps was giving me a headache, and my eyes were stinging. I read in a tired voice:

“Gamble… er… house…”

“Gambling-house vandalized with Morelic graffiti,” Korther helped me impatiently. “Go on, go on.”

I clenched my jaw. I was nervous. And when I was nervous, I couldn’t read. Even less so now that I could imagine what the article was about. The first Mistday, Korther had said. That old paper had been printed right after the graffiti I’d done with Diver to get back at the Black Hawk. Korther knew that I could write Caeldric and that I hated the Black Hawk to death for what he had done… It was only a short step to guessing who was responsible for the graffiti.

Okay. So what if he knew? I rubbed my forehead…

“Don’t tell me you’re going to get sick now, huh?” Korther snarled.

“No, sir,” I assured him.

The thought of getting sick just before I went to steal the Solance terrified me, and I tried to keep reading. It was useless. I stumbled over every sign, made up more than half the words, skipped as many, and my eyes were delirious. I knew it was due to the lack of karuja, it must have been six o’clock in the afternoon, and when I was tired, the effects would wear off quicker.

Finally, frustrated at my inability, I fell silent. The silence of the three Black Daggers finally broke me.

“Whatever, yeah, it was me,” I threw out. “So what? That scumbag deserves to be hanged.”

Korther cocked his head to one side, thoughtful.

“Frashluc was taking taxes from the Black Hawk for his business, and he pocketed his share on the backs of the sokwatas. Tell me, in your opinion, does this man deserve to be hanged too?”

I didn’t dare tell him that I thought he did. I did not know to what extent Korther was or was not a friend of Frashluc. I resumed my reserved attitude and remained silent.

“Answer,” Korther insisted. “Does this man deserve to be hanged too?”

He had raised his voice slightly. I flinched and stammered:

“No, sir.”

Korther expressed neither satisfaction nor displeasure at my answer. He drummed his fingers on the wood.

“What if I told you he deserves it?”

I frowned and found nothing better to do than to remain stubbornly mute. After a silence, Aberyl intervened:

“Psychological evaluations aside, Kor, how about we get to the point?”

Korther sighed.

“Well. Just a word of advice. Don’t ever draw Morelic signs again: it could only get you into trouble. This writing is the ancient writing of abominations, monsters… and necromancers.”

I opened my eyes wide as I saw his eloquent grimace. He was looking at my right hand. I abruptly pulled it off the table and turned to Yal, stunned. How could he do this? How could he betray me like that? Besides, they were demons, and they hated mortic energy, and they hated the undead! How could he do that?

Guessing my thoughts, Yalet winced and shook his head.

“I didn’t say anything, sari. Aberyl had his suspicions, and I had no choice but to confirm. I assure you they won’t do anything to you.”

I continued to stare at him with a beaten dog face. Knowing that running away would not help, knowing that I was trapped like a squirrel in a cage, I remained motionless in my chair, more dead than alive. That they were not going to do anything to me? As if. They were demons! And Korther hated me…

Aberyl took out a stick of licorice and began chewing on it while muttering:

“He’ll die of fear before you tell him you forgive him, Kor. You’re so slow…! Look how fantastic this is. We have a little necromancer sitting right in front of us. He reads like a donkey, he probably doesn’t know what an integral is or how to pinpoint Veliria on a map, but he’s able to move a hand made of nothing but bones… with mortic energy! Isn’t that wonderful?” He pulled the licorice stick from his mouth and pointed it at me. “As long as you don’t get the idea to use your energy on me, I don’t care what you do with it. Neither does Korther… even if he doesn’t say a word!” He chuckled, looking at his companion with mockery. “Our big, tolerant kap hasn’t quite swallowed it yet, but he’s working on it,” he assured me. He smiled, “Relax, kid.”

I relaxed. I went from nervousness to expectation. I looked at Korther’s expression. It didn’t reflect revulsion, just the same aloofness he’d shown for the past two weeks. His reptilian eyes, however, were as keen and attentive as ever. Yal cleared his throat.

“I don’t know if you understood correctly, sari. Korther has forgiven you.”

“More like, I offer him a job in exchange for my forgiveness,” Korther corrected, breaking his silence.

Yal made a pout. I looked at the kap, dumbfounded.

“A job!” I repeated. I didn’t know whether to feel optimistic or suspicious.

“A job so I can forgive you,” Korther confirmed, “and more jobs before you can come back for good. In the end, you will do as Yerris did: follow the path of penance. If, by then, you try to fool me again, you will have wasted your one opportunity. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded.

“Ragingly. I really didn’t want to go into… your office,” I finished in a whisper.

The kap had raised a hand to silence me. I closed my mouth. He sighed.

“The work is about the theft of the Solance. Today is the last time we’ll see each other until the day after tomorrow and…” He watched me, his eyes squinting. “I want you to steal something for me and not tell Frashluc about it.”

I turned pale. He didn’t mean the Sol…?

“It’s an object that you might subconsciously recognize if you manage to examine the tracing,” Korther explained. “I’m not sure it’s in the vaults, but… something tells me it is.”

I quietly let out a sigh of relief. If he had asked me to bring him the Solance, I would have told him no. The lives of my companions were at stake. But for me to steal one of the many jewels that must be in those vaults… well, Frashluc would never know.

“And how do I recognize it from afar?” I asked.

Korther clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

“According to the legend, it is a white opal.”

I was speechless and felt the excitement wash over me.

“Blasthell. The White Opal? The one of the treasure? I mean, the treasure of the Purple Orb. That Opal? It’s in the Palace!”

I couldn’t believe it.

“So Shokinori and Yabir have told you about it too,” Korther sighed, his face darkening. “I wonder how many people know about it. Those two hobbits are going to end up having their throats slit by Greed itself if they don’t get out of Estergat quickly.”

Aberyl huffed, amused. Yal intervened:

“Sorry, but… you’ve lost me.”

Korther shrugged.

“In short, the Purple Orb is linked to two Opals. The Black and the White. The hobbits have had the Black one since they left Yadibia. The White one… is a mystery. Some say it doesn’t exist and others that the link to it is misleading. And it is, without a doubt. I’ve been examining the Purple Orb for hours. And Yabir confirmed my impressions: there is a second link, but it is as fickle as the wind. However,” he smiled, “the Baïras say that this time it is different. The bond is stronger than ever. So they say. And they are convinced that the opal is in a place towards the top of the Rock, perhaps inside the Rock. And… well. The Palace’s treasure chambers are buried in the Rock. The idea that it’s being kept there is plausible. Anyway, Draen, you look for it, and if you find it, you try to make sure there’s a link behind it… It may be not obvious,” he acknowledged at my unconvinced expression. “But you’ve had the Purple Orb in your hands for quite a few hours… maybe you can figure it out. In any case, if you find it, you hide it and give it to Aberyl when you get out.”

I smiled. I knew it. I knew Yabir was looking for the treasure! But, if the opal really was in the Palace, it was neither a very accessible treasure… nor was it a very epic place to find it: everyone knew there were untold riches in there. It lacked a touch of adventure. I don’t know, I’d imagined a magical dragon treasure, not a nail-pincher treasure. But… who would value a pile of junk except for nail-pinchers? Not dragons, of course. Unless there was a nail-pincher dragon. I tried to imagine a huge lizard with a top hat, a baton, and a frock coat. No, it wasn’t believable.

“Let me get this straight,” Korther said, interrupting my thoughts. “You touch the Solance and the White Opal and nothing else.”

I wiped off my smile and nodded.

“It runs. And if I do not find the opal?”

Korther shrugged.

“Then you don’t find it.” he replied. He stood up and walked around the table while saying, “When you get there, don’t lose focus, remember the route well and… don’t let anyone see you. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

I knew from his tone that it was time to leave. I stood up under his expression which, more than a “I trust you” said “if you fail me, I will consider you as a hopeless case”. I walked away to the door and was already removing the bar when Yal called out:

“Wait a minute! I forgot.” He walked over and gave me an embarrassed smile while handing me a small package. “This is for you. Well… I’ll see you the day after tomorrow. Don’t stress too much.”

I nodded and looked inside the package. I laughed. They were butter cookies.

“Thunders! Are these from the same store you bought in the winter?”

“That’s right,” he confirmed.

We exchanged a smile of reconciliation. I no longer felt betrayed. I forgave him with a friendly pout and wavered on the threshold.

“Well, I’m going. Ayo, Yal.”

“Good night, sari,” he replied, smiling.

I went out into the dark dead end. It was already dark and terribly cold, even with the new coat Taka had bought me. I sped up my pace. When I reached the end of Bone Street, I found a worried figure walking in circles, smoking a cigar. As soon as Le Bor saw me, he threw the cigar away and grunted.

“It was about time. Let’s go home, Four-Hundred. And hurry up, I’ve got stuff to take care of. Good mother, it’s so cold.”

I quickly followed him. Le Bor had really taken my safety seriously: not a single day since my first lesson had he failed to be there waiting to drive me home. I don’t know if he was afraid that someone would stab me on the way or that I would take forbidden detours. In any case, he protected me as if I were his own son.

“Sir,” I complained, half walking and half trotting beside him so as not to fall behind. “Not so fast, I can’t keep up. The karuja…”

“At home,” Le Bor replied.

I endured my pain and continued to move mechanically. The harder I tried, the worse I felt. Buildings, Cats, and animals became mere shapes which I clumsily avoided. When I was about to bump into a stopped cart, I grabbed Le Bor’s arm. He gave a low growl. At last, we reached the building, went inside, climbed the stairs, and the last two flights of stairs, Le Bor carried me halfway up. I heard him greeting some of the neighbors, and we walked down the corridor, and I wrinkled my nose at a cat that was hissing and bristling—it was the Tassian neighbor’s cat, who was as grumpy and crazy as its owner. At last Le Bor took out the key and opened our door.

The interior was silent. Was there anyone there? No, no one. Le Bor disappeared into the room and returned with a karuja ball. I swallowed it. And it was heaven: little by little, the pain subsided, my eyes stopped burning, my mind cleared… After a few moments, I noticed that Le Bor was busy in the adjoining room. I peeped in.

“What are you doing?” I asked, curious.

Le Bor was pulling something from under the bed. He gave an exasperated grunt.

“None of your business, Four-Hundred.”

And with long strides he came over and shut the door in my face. To my surprise he opened it again after two seconds.

“Or maybe it is,” he corrected. He looked at me intently. “Tell me, do the Dead scare you?”

The question left a bitter taste in my mouth.

“The Dead?” I repeated. “The real Dead?” I shrugged, acting bravado. “Not one bit. I’ve seen plenty of them. Why?”

Le Bor sighed and opened the bedroom door wide. He motioned for me to follow him, and finished drawing what he had been drawing before. Before me appeared… a dead man wrapped in a sheet.

“Don’t think this happens to me often,” Le Bor coughed. “Usually, I dig dead people up, I don’t bury them, but… this isturbag came into my house, holding a dagger, making threats… You don’t treat Le Bor like that, you understand? So it turned out badly. But it could have been worse: it so happens that, precisely tonight, I had planned a little work with a friend. We’ll dig up the buried one and put this one in its place.”

He sat down on the bed with a grimace of annoyance and concluded:

“Scrub the floor, will you? You need to scrub it to get all the blood off. Thank goodness tonight Taka is working. I don’t want her to hear about this.”

I nodded but did not move. After a few seconds, I spoke again.

“What’s his name?”

Le Bor glared at me.

“Who cares about his name? There’s no point in calling him anymore. But if you want to call him, call him Isturbag. Go get the brush, Four-Hundred.”

I did as I was told, and within a few minutes, I was on my knees beside the corpse, scrubbing the floor and smearing it with soap. And as I worked, I wondered what my companions were doing at the moment. Rogan must have gone to sell prayers on Tarmil Avenue. As for my cronies… they might well be with Swift. One of the first nights, they’d had to sleep in the hallway, Little Wolf included, because Taka had considered coming back at two in the morning an “aberration”. She had asked Le Bor to spank the older children with a belt, and she had taken the Master away from Little Wolf because she thought it was a “horrible” doll. Her punishment stunned even me. Since then, the little one played with a little wooden horse during the day and… slept with the Master at night. How could I have left him without the Master! There was no way in hell I would do that: every night, when Taka went to sleep, I took him out of his hiding place, and the little one, of course, forgot about the horse right away.

Well, well, well, I was thinking of bone dolls when I actually had no less than a whole corpse within a few feet of me. I glanced at the dead man wrapped in his sheet, looked down at the muddy boots and… Oddly enough, I didn’t feel impressed. If he had been innocent, perhaps I would have felt sorry. But since he had entered Le Bor’s house to threaten him… He had it coming.

Scrub, scrub, scrub… I growled.

“Dammit, it’s not going away!”

Le Bor was sitting at the dining room table, looking as if he were deep in thought. He did not answer me. I sighed, took out a butter biscuit and wolfed it down with delight before continuing to rub and rub. And there I was, growing more and more bored, when suddenly someone knocked at the front door, and I straightened up. Could it be my companions? No, it was too early. Normally, they did not appear until nine o’clock.

I looked questioningly at Le Bor. He did not get up immediately, and again someone knocked on the door. Firmly. As if it were a hitman or a fly… Finally Le Bor left his seat and stormed into the room. With my help, he rolled the isturbag back under the bed. Another knock at the door. Damn… Le Bor slipped a dagger into his sleeve and growled:

“Stay in the room.”

He closed the door of the room and went to open the door that was being banged on outside. I rushed to listen through the wood and heard a deep voice say:

“Good evening. I’m sorry to disturb you. Does this young man live here?”

“By no means,” Le Bor replied.

“Sir!” Rogan’s voice exclaimed. “It’s not what you think. That fly brings the cure. For real. He says he’s going to give us the cure for the sokwata. But first, he wants to see Sharpy. He’s his brother… By all the spirits, it’s true!”

I heard a thump that I did not understand. I was stunned for a second… It was Kakzail! I jumped up and ran out of the room. And I saw that my elder brother, dressed in a fly uniform, had just prevented Le Bor from closing the door by interposing a boot. His eyes fell upon me. And a smile stretched his lips.

“I don’t think I came to the wrong door, sir. May I come in?”

Le Bor gave me a murderous look. I hurriedly pushed the bedroom door shut to make sure nobody would see anything from the dining room and approached with a half-intrigued, half-apprehensive pout.

“Is that thing about the cure true? Did the alchemist find it?” I asked, hopeful.

“He found it,” Kakzail confirmed. He snorted as he slid inside, “And I finally find you.”

Rogan followed him, handcuffed to my brother’s wrist. He half hid behind my brother, gestured to me as if to say, “what a mess, sorry,” and glanced cautiously at Le Bor. However, Le Bor was concentrating his attention on the intruder; he recovered his casual attitude and gave Kakzail a cold smile.

“Kindred Spirits, then you really are the boy’s brother,” he said. “Glad to know you. Draen’s hardly told me anything about you, but… very glad nonetheless. I’m Barri Shuk,” he introduced himself, extending a hand. I arched an eyebrow. Barri Shuk?

Kakzail looked at him. He shook his hand and replied:

“Kakzail Malaxalra.”

“A valley name, as expected. And exactly what did this boy do?” Le Bor inquired, pointing vaguely to Rogan.

Kakzail turned his gaze to the handcuffs and to my comrade and grimaced.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I found him begging on the street.”

“Begging!” Rogan cried out indignantly. “I was praying, not begging! Praying is a job like any other. I am a priest.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kakzail replied, mockingly. And he turned his attention back to Le Bor. “Look, I don’t know who you are exactly, but I don’t suppose you’ll mind if I take my brother home with me.”

Le Bor gave him a wolfish smile.

“Natural I don’t. The boy is free. But…” He put a strong arm around my shoulders in a fatherly gesture. “I’m afraid Draen doesn’t want to go, eh, kid?”

“Dead round, sir,” I confirmed. “I’m fine here, Kakzail. I’m not moving from here. But, say… if you could still give me the cure…”

Kakzail gave me a funeral look. I felt as if I were misunderstood, and I was, because I couldn’t explain to him as it was: “listen, if I don’t steal Estergat’s Jewel the day after tomorrow, I’ll have popped off my companions” If I had, he would have sent us all to Carnation, immediately. After all, brother or not, he was a fly.

After a brief silence, Kakzail released Rogan’s wrist, saying:

“Mr. Shuk, if you don’t want us to search and watch your apartment, you’ll have to let my brother come with me. You know we have every right to enter the houses in this neighborhood without permission. I’m sorry, little brother,” he added, taking a step toward me. “It’s for your own good.”

He grabbed me by the wrist to cuff me… I resisted like a demon, but he was stronger than I was, so I thought, if Kakzail catches me, goodbye Solance, goodbye companions, goodbye Bor and Taka. So, without giving it much thought, I gathered as much mortic energy as I could in a short time and released it on my brother. It so happened that, at the same time, Le Bor threw a masterful punch at him… Kakzail collapsed, and I fell with him, dragged down by the handcuffs.

“Kakzail!” I exclaimed. I shook him. He did not move. Horror filled me. “Bor. Is he dead? Tell me, is he dead?”

Le Bor arched an eyebrow, looking surprised.

“How do you expect him to die, Four-Hundred. I just punched him.”

“Tell me he’s not dead!” I shouted, panicked.

Le Bor huffed, leaned over and put a hand on the gladiator’s neck. He shook his head.

“He is alive,” he assured me. My concern was such that even he looked relieved. Then his expression closed. “Spirits. You’ve frankly got us in trouble, Four-Hundred. Didn’t I tell you to stay in the room? Why did you come out of the room?”

He was very angry. It was normal: we had an unconscious fly in the house because of me. But, blasthell, we also had a dead body in the room, and that one wasn’t my fault. I defended myself:

“You were going to kick the Priest out! You said you wouldn’t chase away my friends.”

“I said I wouldn’t chase them away until they gave me some trouble. This house is not your friends’ house, nor is it your house. So, from now on, your comrades: out. Out,” he insisted, moving towards the Priest. “Get out and don’t come back here.”

As he approached him, Rogan, looking very pale, backed up towards the exit door.

“But, sir, the cure…”

“The cure won’t do you much good if you stay here, believe me,” Le Bor retorted tartly.

Trapped in handcuffs, I half-stood up, protesting:

“It’s not fair!”

Maybe it was or maybe it wasn’t; either way, Le Bor was very persuasive, and when the distance between them shrank more than was prudently acceptable, Rogan took to his heels. Already in the corridor, he shouted:

“See you, Sharpy, take care!”

The door closed with a bang. I dropped to the floor under the dark gaze of Le Bor. With a scowl, I looked away and reached into my brother’s pockets with my free hand, looking for the key. I found a box of smograss, and a small bottle with a clear liquid, and the key. To my annoyance, Le Bor grabbed the bottle from my hands.

“Is that the cure?” he asked.

“And what do I know,” I replied briskly as I freed my hand. “Give it back.”

Instead of giving it back to me, Le Bor put me on my feet by force and twisted my arm until I groaned in pain.

“Today I’m in a very bad mood, so don’t push your luck,” he growled in a dull voice. “I’m going to get rid of these two isturbags, and you’re going to stay home and scrub the floor. And if there’s a single trace left, if my lady sees anything, or if this business with your brother gets me and my lady in trouble…you’re going to pay for it with your life, Four-Hundred. You hear me?”

“You’re full of big talk” was what I wanted to say. However, even though I didn’t think Le Bor was capable of killing me, I knew he was capable of beating me up. And I didn’t want to go and steal the Solance with my whole body aching. So I kept quiet while Le Bor disappeared into the room. He came back with a vial in his hand.

“Good mother,” I startled. “What’s that?”

“A sedative,” Le Bor explained.

I hesitated. A sedative? Really? I fidgeted.

“You’re not gonna kill him, are you? Because… because, if you kill him, I’ll pop you off for real, Bor. He’s my brother. I’m serious.”

Le Bor looked up to the sky.

“Your threats terrify me, Four-Hundred. Bah,” he huffed at my tormented face. “Don’t worry. I’m not an assassin. The one in the bedroom was an accident. And he had it coming. Your brother, I’ll just take him somewhere out of the way, and in the morning, when he comes back to this house, he’ll learn that Mr. Shuk doesn’t live here anymore. By the time he finds out my real name, I’ll be long gone.” He smiled. “At last.”

I swallowed, my heart empty.

“So you’re leaving. With the lady?”

“Natural,” the ruffian confirmed, “Tomorrow, I must return you to Frashluc. And from then on… I am free. But, until then, Four-Hundred, you do as I command. Get to work.”

I sighed mournfully and went back into the room to scrub the floor beside the corpse. I scrubbed with all my energy but with a grieving heart. It pained me to have to treat Kakzail in this way, to have Le Bor sedate him and leave him to go who knows where… but it was necessary. Because I couldn’t miss my appointment at the Palace for anything in the world.

So I tried to accept the situation, and when Le Bor’s friend came around midnight, I watched in silence as they both took my sleeping brother away. They came back for the corpse. And when Le Bor locked me in, I continued to scrub the floor. The stains wouldn’t go away. And the horrible uncertainty of doing something wrong didn’t leave my mind either. It rarely happened to me. When I stole from my victims, I justified it by thinking, “Ah, they’re a bunch of nail-pinchers, they’ve got a roof over their heads, their bellies are full, they’ve got an education, whereas I’m hungry, I want karuja, and, good mother, that’s the way life is: if they’re rich it’s because they’ve stolen before”. Yal had told me that, and it was true. I hadn’t felt guilty either when I killed Warok. And helping to cover up the death of this guy I didn’t know who had threatened Le Bor didn’t cause me any remorse of conscience. But to have attacked my brother with a mortic discharge? That was unforgivable. It was abominable. And if I added to that act the knowledge that Le Bor was going to abandon me, that he was going to leave Estergat with Taka, that he was going to forget me… my sadness grew and grew in a bubble that would not burst. And the worst part was that I understood Le Bor. I understood that, for him, staying in Estergat was like sleeping in the middle of a pack of hungry wolves. Frashluc on one side, the flies on the other… On second thought, I wished he would go away and live in peace away from the Rock, with Taka; that he would have children of his own, not depraved gwaks; that they would both be happy at last. I have to admit that in those two weeks I had imagined us as a family. But that was ridiculous. I had no right to ask Le Bor to help me any more than he had already done. He liked me, yes, but he liked the lady much more. I was “Four-Hundred”. And she was a queen. So, thank you, sir dad, and thank you, ma’am; may the Spirits protect you, and… ayo.

As always.

I gritted my teeth, hit the floor with the brush, and continued to scrub.