76. My creepiest, heroic demand

First, I decided to go to the Bivouac. Discreetly, I nibbled on the rodaria twig hidden in my sleeve… I had snatched it from the barber when he wasn’t looking. What the hell: it was mine. And it helped ease the pain a little. I had tried to speed up the healing with spells, but I needed to concentrate to do that, and I think some of them only made the pain worse, and almost made me fall into a black pit again. So I said to myself: well, it will heal on its own.

Halfway through, Skrindwar asked:

“Wouldn’t it be better if we went downstairs?”

“Trust me. First, we’re going to see the gang,” I explained. Through the shadows of the street, I perceived their apprehension and casually assured them, “Don’t worry: they’re all honest gwaks.”

I continued to walk briskly, and my two bodyguards did not protest. After all, I was the only one who knew the area. When I arrived at the Bivouac, I told them:

“Watch out for holes and stones. Walk where I walk. Come on, this way.”

They stumbled a few times, but nothing serious. We passed two or three gwak camps and finally arrived at the Wise Ones’ spot. As it was already dark, the whole troop had returned. They had a fire burning and were sitting around it, quietly sharing bottles of radrasia. Noticing our approach, Swift stood up.

“Who goes there?”

“It’s Sharpy!” Damba exclaimed. Having been a sokwata, he had better eyesight.

“Ayo, ayo!” I greeted as I joined them. “I am in the middle of a search mission. These are my brothers from the barber shop. Ayo, Little Wolf!”

I welcomed the little one with joy while Swift snorted.

“Blasthell. You whacked yourself good on the skull this afternoon, namesake, didn’t you?”

They must have seen the commotion on the Esplanade and how the flies had chased me.

“A bestial blow,” I confessed, taking off my cap. “Sure I’m gonna have a lump like Manras, the past moon. I didn’t become an isturbag by a hair.”

Swift laughed.

“Don’t worry, we wouldn’t know the difference.” He gave me a joking push and pointed to the fire. “Sit down and let’s talk.”

I went and sat down between my comrades, knocking the Priest’s hat as I went, and Lin passed me a bottle. I took a sip and asked Rogan to examine my head.

“Is it bleeding?”

“Let me see, push your hand away, or I won’t see anything.” I took my hand off, and Rogan assured, “It’s not bleeding.”

“No?”

“Not anymore. There’s a scab,” he explained.

“Why don’t you do what you did with Manras?” little Possu asked.

His question drew curious looks from me, for the comrades thought me a great magician. I cleared my throat quietly, withdrew my hand from my head, and took another sip of radrasia. Then I said:

“It’s not that simple.”

They believed me. After all, healing wasn’t easy: there was a reason why quacks and witches earned so much and killed so many. I looked up and noticed that Swift was having a conversation with Skrindwar. Gosh. I pricked up my ears, but the companions were making noise, so I whispered to Rogan:

“Tonight’s gonna be busy.”

And I rose with him to join my brothers, Swift, and Syrdio. The latter spat as he saw me approaching.

“Sharpy. I see you coming. It’s one thing to look for a mate and another to look for a daddy’s boy who’s run away. Those always go home. He’ll soon get tired of sleeping on the street. And, if not, hunger will make him go home. Ain’t I right?”

That was Syrdio all the way. I armed myself with patience and replied:

“You don’t have to help. It’s just, if you see a kid that looks just like me but a little bit smaller, well, tell me, that’s all.”

“And why should I?” Syrdio retorted. “You yourself said the barber was an isturbag.”

I opened my eyes wide, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see my brothers’ discomfort. I was indignant:

“I never said that!”

“Ha. You did,” Syrdio scoffed. “Didn’t he, Swift?”

The kap preferred not to say anything, and I flipped out. I pushed Syrdio. He was almost fourteen and taller, but I knew that sometimes those things were not what mattered most. Having guts was more important. The problem was that Syrdio didn’t lack grit either. The gwak responded by shoving me too and mocking:

“Don’t piss me off. You also said it was bestial boring, at the barber’s. So, if your brother doesn’t come back, maybe it’s because he’s better off outside.”

“Or that he’s in trouble,” I retorted, calming myself. “You’re talking without knowing.”

“Just one question, Sharpy,” Swift intervened in a mediating tone. “Are your parents paying a reward or is this charity work?”

I pouted, hesitated and said:

“The reward is mine to give.”

The redheaded elf looked interested and grabbed me by the shoulders so we could walk away some steps.

“How much?”

I shrugged, undecided.

“Five goldies?”

“Boo. Five for twenty gwaks?” Swift breathed out. “That’ll be gone in an afternoon.”

“That’s twenty-five nails a head,” I protested. “At Carnation, I met a little spinner who earned less than that, and he worked thirteen hours a day. Don’t act like a nail-pincher. You’re the first to say so…”

I was interrupted by a burst of laughter from Swift. He shook his head in amusement.

“It runs. Five siatos. But it’s only okay because it’s you, namesake. I’ll tell everyone.”

“Thank you, kap!” I exclaimed happily, victorious.

A few moments later, most of the companions left the shelter with instructions to ask after a copper kid named Sarova. Swift acted lazy and decided to stay with Syrdio. I wanted to leave Little Wolf in charge of my cronies, but Manras protested that he too wanted to help, he frightened me by telling me that Adoya knew the Bivouac refuge, and, finally, defeated, I grumbled:

“Well, it runs, you guys do what you want.”

And I went away with my brothers, Manras, Dil, Little Wolf, and the Priest.

“Where are you going to get these five siatos from?” Samfen whispered to me.

I sighed. So he had heard the negotiation.

“No idea,” I admitted. “From somewhere. I’ll think of something. For now, let’s just go down… Watch out for rocks!”

I leapt from rock to rock and landed in the muddy street that bordered the Bivouac. There were no streetlights there. I felt a little dizzy, and thinking that it was due to the wound in my head, I took out the rodaria and bit it. It lifted my spirits. Rogan was the next to join me with Little Wolf on his shoulders, and he whispered to me:

“Hey, they look like nice people, don’t they?”

I smiled. He was talking about my brothers.

“Yes. A different culture, as Yabir would say. But friendly. Say, Priest. I don’t know where Syrdio got that I said the barber was an isturbag. Did I say that?”

“Uh… you said it,” the Priest confirmed. “But, just once, casually, without insisting too much. Bah, Syrdio is like that, he’s an isturbag.”

“Somewhat,” I agreed.

As soon as my brothers and cronies were safely out of the Bivouac, I turned my back on them and started down the street with Rogan.

We went straight to the Labyrinth. First, we passed through Wool Square, but I saw some of my companions already busy questioning the gwaks that weren’t asleep, and after a moment’s hesitation and a glance around, I said:

“Let’s keep going.”

My brothers were following me closely. I quickened my pace. And they sped up. They looked worried. I rolled my eyes and whispered to Rogan:

“Do you think they’d be scared stiff if we took them to The Drawer?”

The Priest huffed, stifling a laugh.

“Most likely. But I don’t think your brother went in there.”

“No,” I agreed. And I joked, “That place’s for seasoned gwaks.”

So we avoided The Drawer and went through the noisy and busy streets of the main “market” of the quarter. It was a labyrinth of stairways, courtyards, and galleries full of more or less idle sajits, warmly colored lamps, and all sorts of junk. It was near the Frashluc gang’s underground Great Refectory, where I had spent several days singing and shining shoes after the attack of Braggart.

Here, gwaks were commonplace, yet few liked to hang around these parts. Too many risks and fights for dubious gains. And still, many gwaks who didn’t dare to stick their nose out of the Cats and didn’t want to join big gangs ended up here, doing whatever work was available to them. As far as I knew, Guel the Soothsayer, Slaryn’s sokwata friend, had made a small reputation for herself here as a fortune-telling witch and was earning a living like a champ. But not everyone was so lucky.

I asked several gwaks I passed if they had seen a kid who looked a lot like me. They all shook their heads. One of them, a boy from the Valley, looked at Rogan with round eyes. Under my curious look, the Priest gave him a half-smile and walked past me, murmuring with amusement:

“This guy, one day I cursed him, and right after I did, a dead bird fell on his head. Since then, every time he sees me, he’s scared like he was standing before the Holy Patron Spirit itself. Leave him to me.”

Without touching him, the Priest came so close to the Valley boy that he looked as if he was going to devour him. The poor boy listened to his whispered words and stammered something. Rogan jerked up.

“Really?”

The Valley boy nodded and glanced around nervously. He muttered something else. Rogan snorted.

“Speak in Drionsan, blasthell.”

“He speaks the language of the valley?” Skrindwar interjected.

Suddenly, my brother said something incomprehensible. Those “chkldehledekele”. The Valley gwak looked at him for a moment, and then he answered fluently in his native tongue. Since I could not understand anything, I stopped paying attention, turned my head, and… I saw Manras stick his hand in Skrindwar’s pocket. I could not believe my eyes. Our eyes met, I gave him a warning pout, and the little dark elf stepped aside, obedient. Immediately, I caught him by the arm and hissed in his ear:

“They’re my brothers, demorjed. We don’t steal nothing from them. You get it?”

Manras nodded innocently. I sighed and took the hand of Little Wolf, who was playing at smashing the Master against the mud. He had broken its arm, and the little one showed it to me. I rolled my eyes.

“Well, obviously, if you treat him like that, it’s only natural that he’ll break into pieces.” I put the skeletal arm in his coat pocket and asked, “Well then! How long is the chitchat going to go on? What’s he saying?”

Skrindwar shook his head, altered.

“He says that this morning three boys of Sarova’s age came. One of them was a Valley boy. He spoke with him in the language of the valley. He did not tell him his name, but he heard his companions say that it was ‘Sharpy’. Apparently, he’s a young thief-magician who belongs to the brotherhood of… the Black Daggers. His physical description coincides, but… there’s no way it’s him, right?”

I swallowed. Very round. It couldn’t be him, because that one was me.

Oh, blasthell. What the hell was Sarova doing pretending to be me?

“What a son of an isturbag,” I muttered.

I looked at my brothers out of the corner of my eye, and then at the other Valley boy who was watching me with a strange attention.

“Sharpy,” Samfen murmured, startled. “That’s… that’s what your friends call you, right?”

I was speechless. I turned to Rogan, to my cronies, I looked down at Little Wolf… and then Manras called to me, his gaze fixed:

“Sharpy.”

“What?” I replied.

The little dark elf held out his finger without any discretion. I turned and saw a figure leaning against the wall at the top of a flight of stairs. It looked as if the spy had been there for quite some time. I frowned and tried to see his features. Then I gasped. It was Diver. Seeing that I was looking at him, my friend gave me a sign. He wanted to talk to me alone. Intrigued, I said to the others:

“Wait here, it runs? I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Skrindwar asked.

“Gotta talk to someone,” I replied evasively.

And I ran up the stairs. I saw Diver walking away towards an alley. I was on the alert, for if he wanted to speak to me in secret, it probably meant that he had been sent. I knew well that Diver was a gwak of Frashluc. And, despite my trust, that made me slow my pace when I reached the top, and I glanced around. We were outside of the market area, and the alley was deserted and dark.

“Diver?”

“Here,” my friend whispered.

I approached his shadow. I smiled.

“Ayo, mate. Why are you being so mysterious?”

In the darkness, we could hardly see each other. Diver answered me in my ear:

“Don’t go to the Black Hawk. Your brother’s not with him.”

I felt a chill. The mere idea that Sarova might be with the Black Hawk had never crossed my mind. And yet, it made sense. Especially if Sarova had been impersonating me. The more I thought about it, blasthell, what an isturbag…

Then Diver’s words echoed in my head again, and I drew in a breath.

“Do you know where Sarova is?”

Diver sighed.

“Yes. But I can’t show the place to the people you’re with. Only you.”

I squinted, uncomfortable.

“And… can’t you bring him here? I have time.”

“I can’t,” Diver replied. “Come with me now. Otherwise you won’t see Sarova again. Frashluc has him. Some isturbag thought it was you, and they got him. They won’t let go until you turn yourself in.”

This left me both shocked and confused.

“And why does Frashluc want to get me?”

Diver cleared his throat.

“Because you’re a Black Dagger. Frashluc is mad at Korther. He thinks that man’s gonna blow up all his underground tunnels… That’s what I heard. But surely there’s more to it. Come.”

He grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled. I protested:

“Wait, I’ll tell the others…”

“No,” Diver growled. “If Korther finds out where you are because of me, they’ll pop me off, Sharpy. I promise you… I promise you that once we get there, I’ll help you get away. I promise. But right now, come with me, comrade.”

He was so insistent and spoke in such an unusually pleading voice that I listened. After all, Diver was a great mate of mine, he’d taught me almost everything I knew about pilfering tricks, we’d worked together selling dandepassion, we’d played a thousand games, and, well, I trusted him almost completely. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned me: I was aware that I was going straight into the lion’s den to get Sarova out and myself in.

We did not have to walk far, but we did turn several corners. Finally, we came to a dead end and stopped in front of an old man sitting on a barrel. Diver whispered a few words in his ear. The old man shook his head gently and tilted the wand in his right hand. The way is clear, he seemed to say. Diver pulled me by the sleeve, and I was about to follow him when the old man blocked my path with his wand.

“Say, boy. Do you like chocolate?”

I looked at him, surprised, and nodded.

“I do, sir. But I’ve only tasted it once.”

“Only once? Sacrilege!” he exclaimed in a whisper. And with his other hand, he held out something to me. “Take it. It’s the best remedy for cheering up.”

I took what he gave me. I smelled it. I hesitated.

“Is it a gift?”

The old man answered, and I could tell by his tone that he was smiling:

“Of course, my boy. A gift. And now go with Nat.”

I put the chocolate in my mouth and followed Diver. He went down some outside stairs, and as we went along a narrow path, I suddenly asked in a whisper:

“It wasn’t poison, was it?”

Diver let out a muffled laugh.

“Of course it wasn’t, shyur. You’re more suspicious than a chary cat. No. Old Bayl just thinks all kids, even gwaks, should eat chocolate once in a while. He says it wakes the spirit. He’s a good man. Too bad he’s eyeless.”

I arched an eyebrow. Eyeless? The old man had not given me the impression of being blind. But with old blind men you could never be sure. Knowing all this, I savored what was left of chocolate in my mouth even more.

We climbed a ladder, crossed a small terrace, and finally entered a house that was sunken into the rock. Diver had the key to the door. Inside, we passed several people whom Diver did not even greet. We descended through a trap door and finally arrived… at the underground Great Refectory of Frashluc. I recognized it at once. Except that, unlike the last time, this day it was almost deserted. There were six people sitting at one table and two more at the end of another. Sitting in the middle of the first group, I noticed a small figure buried under one-armed, burly Swashbuckler, one of the henchmen, who was saying:

“And then, guess what I did! I cut off my own hand so that I wouldn’t get coped by the flies!”

My heart sank as I recognized Sarova in that small, trembling figure. Oh, damn them… I blurted out loudly:

“What bullshit are you telling him, Swashbuckler! Don’t tell my brother any weird stuff—”

“If it isn’t the Bard!” the one-armed man exclaimed in a stentorian voice.

“And the real one this time,” Fishka laughed, a paunchy brown-haired caitian. “Come here, come here!”

Diver walked away and glanced at me with concern before disappearing down a corridor. I approached the table of the six Cats with a scowl on my face.

“I’m coming, but you let go of Sarova right now,” I demanded.

“We will, man, as soon as we’re given permission to do so,” Fishka promised. “For now, he’s staying here. He’s told us of his torments, and we’ve given him advice, right? Say, Bard. Have you had dinner?”

I glanced neutrally at a frightened Sarova, looked at a plate that lay there with leftover porridge, and shook my head, wary.

“No.”

“Well, well!” Fishka said cheerfully. “Let’s do this: sing something for us, and we’ll see if you earn your dinner. Careful, because, if you sing badly, we’ll chain you up, eh?”

I gave the paunchy man a sullen look.

“I thought Frashluc wanted me for something other than bawling.”

Swashbuckler rose to his feet, standing before me like an ogre. I did not back down. He seized me with his one hand, lifted me into the air, and resting me upright on the table, he said:

“Sing, gwak.”

Swashbuckler was one of those people who, once they had an idea, it was hard to make them change it. I thought that if I began to sing they might soften and at least let Sarova go, and so I agreed.

“It runs. What should I sing?”

One of those sitting at the other end of the room howled:

“The beauties of the neighborhood!”

I knew this one by heart and so well that I could have sung it in my sleep. And since it had been a long time since I had sung at the top of my lungs, I took the opportunity. It did me a lot of good. I modulated my voice, perhaps not like a great singer, but with an unmistakable passion, my mind got away from the refectory, and my mood soared. I went on with the Kartikada, then they asked me for the song of the two turtle-doves. Finally, I won the porridge. I swallowed it in a peace-and-virtue while the Cats continued a game of cards, and asked:

“Can Sarova go now?”

I had seen my brother try to slip away twice during the songs, without success. In response, I received a blow which awakened the pain in my head, and I became dizzy. Mechanically, without protest, I took out the rodaria twig and began to chew on it, more and more perplexed. Why did Frashluc want to catch me? I didn’t know, but deep down I hoped it was good news. I mean, I didn’t know what Frashluc wanted from me, but maybe I could… I don’t know, maybe I could tell him about the Black Hawk and Adoya and ask for his help. Korther hadn’t given me any. Maybe Frashluc would give it to me. The only risk was that he might take days to deign to listen to me. And, if I didn’t go to the Black Hawk this very night, my family would go “pow”.

From time to time, people stopped by the Great Refectory. The card players seemed to be absorbed in their game, but I knew they were always watching us. That didn’t mean we couldn’t talk. I took Sarova by the arm and said:

“Come.”

I didn’t go far. Just enough so that the adult Cats would know it was a private conversation. And then I taunted him:

“So, you’re Sharpy now, too?”

Sarova did not loosen his lips. His direct gaze and his expression of a seasoned gwak made me smile.

“And here I thought you hated gwaks,” I resumed and, smiling, spread my hands and confessed, “I feel flattered, bro. This is the first time anyone has pretended to be me. Was this an idea of your fellow gwaks?”

Sarova looked away as if ashamed and shrugged. I cleared my throat.

“Well, well, did you swallow your tongue, shyur?”

Amused, I gave him a pat on the head and went to sit against a wall. I waited. After a while, Sarova came and crouched down beside me.

“Are we prisoners?” he muttered.

I made a casual pout.

“Bah. Better to be a prisoner here than at Carnation, believe me.”

There was silence between us. In the room, we could hear the occasional laughter and exclamations of the card players. Then Sarova said:

“You sing well.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“Oh. Well, the truth is, this time I sold out for not much. Other times, I’ve won chicken feet and some dishes that looked like the dishes of a king. Frashluc people have got a capital twist. Just look at that big guy over there. But I’ve showed up in hard times, it seems,” I sighed.

I saw him smile, and I lowered my voice:

“The most direct exit, shyur, is down the hall to the left. There’s a hallway. A door. And a house. And then you go out into a street, and going down and down, you come to Sheer Cliff Street, you know, just above the Hippodrome. The trouble is, there are probably eyes keeping watch. You’ll have to avoid them.”

Sarova nodded. He looked wide awake and alert. Perfect.

“If you manage to leg it,” I continued, “don’t say where you’ve been. With Frashluc, you don’t snitch, you understand?”

“I don’t snitch,” Sarova asserted with dignity.

I smiled.

“Good then.” I hesitated and added: “If you don’t want to go back to the barber’s, go to the Bivouac, on top of the Cats, where there’s the gravel, and ask for Swift. Tell him that Sharpy sends you. He’ll let you crash with the gang. All right?”

Sarova nodded nervously and said:

“All right. But… what about you? Aren’t you gonna get out of here too?”

“I have business,” I explained.

A glint of curiosity sprang up in Sarova’s dark eyes, and I knew he was about to ask a question, when suddenly Fishka cried out:

“Hey, gwak! Go get me that bag over there, will you?”

If the bag had been across the room, I would have said: natural, of course. And I would have found a way to get Sarova out of there, perhaps using harmonies. But the case was that the bag was ten paces from the paunchy guy. I snorted.

“Go get it yourself, slacker.”

However, as the paunchy man threatened to kick my ass, I got up and went to give him the bag. He gave me a good smack on the head anyway.

“Show a little respect for your elders, brat,” he snapped at me.

I staggered and faltered… My head was pounding like a drum. Fishka huffed in disgust.

“Thunder. Is that blood?”

The paunchy man’s hand was covered in blood. So my wound had reopened. Strangely enough, just the thought that my head was bloody, and that the blood on the paunchy man’s hand was my own, made such an impression on me that all at once my mind went to hell.

When I woke up, my tongue was on fire. Gosh. Again? Someone had put Lezia pepper in my mouth. Frashluc and his methods of waking people up…

I felt pressure on my head. Because it had been bandaged. And… I was no longer in the Great Refectory, but in a stone room with two men in chains and another standing before me with a torch. It was the Albino, the old Frashluc’s great friend. I did not know the two prisoners. There was no sign of Sarova.

“Hello, kid,” the Albino said to me calmly, “I’m afraid you’re next in line for questioning. Can you stand up?”

I blinked, huffing again, my mouth on fire.

“Water,” I stammered.

“I’ll give you some upstairs,” the Albino said.

“And who exactly is this boy, anyway?” interjected one of the prisoners, the one who was a dark elf. When the Albino did not answer, he added, “Frashluc is losing his mind, Albino. Questioning us like this…! You sons of rats. When our confreres find out about this—”

“No, Zarguik,” the Albino replied. “The one losing his mind is your kap, not Frashluc.”

Zarguik, I repeated to myself. Did he just say “Zarguik”? Despite the pepper and my daze, I finally remembered and opened my eyes wide. Of course! Zarguik! I remembered that Yalet had told me about a man named Zarguik, nicknamed the Jewel-Kisser. He was an expert at stealing precious jewels from high society, and he had never been caught before.

So, that meant… I swallowed, looking at the two men in chains. These two sajits were Black Daggers. And they had been interrogated. Okay, fine. But… interrogated about what?

“Get up, kid,” the Albino insisted.

Under the curious gaze of the Black Daggers, I stretched and rose to my feet. The Albino put a hand on my shoulder, and as a thousand confused questions swirled in my head, he led me out of the cell.

My confusion was not lessened when, instead of giving me a glass of water, the Albino gave me a glass of radrasia. He had led me upstairs to a small room where another man of Frashluc was also present. Both of them began to ask me questions, but I kept interrupting them by repeating: Where is my brother? What time is it? I want water, I want water…

The Albino, seeing that I just kept repeating the same thing, finally answered my questions: they had freed Sarova, and it was one o’clock in the morning. He even brought me a glass of water. When I had emptied it, the other man resumed the interrogation:

“Who are the hobbits you traveled with from Onkada to Estergat?”

This was, I think, the third time he had asked me the question. I could hardly hear him, however. I repeated to myself: one o’clock in the morning! And Adoya was surely waiting for me in the dead end of the Ojisaries, who knows with how many dogs…

“I want to talk to Frashluc,” I said firmly.

My words drew a frown from the man of Frashluc. I explained:

“I have a problem. And, if Frashluc helps me, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

After all, I didn’t really know much, and nothing about the open tunnels to the Underground could be as important as the safety of an entire family. Just the thought that at dawn Adoya could blow up the barber shop made me feel horrified and my breathing quicken.

“I’m being serious,” I insisted.

“Hmm,” the Albino mused. He walked over to the chair I was sitting in and leaned on the back, inquiring, “What kind of problem are you having exactly?”

I explained the story with Adoya and the Black Hawk, I told them in a low voice that they were going to kill my family, and finally the Albino asked:

“And how do you want Frashluc to fix the problem?”

I bit my lips nervously, I made a face like I did not know and was asking for help because of that, and the Albino pondered out loud:

“Eliminating them would be a solution. And no great loss to anyone. Are you okay with that solution?”

I looked into his eyes, became troubled, my heart quickened, and to my horror, I found myself nodding silently. Yes, yes… I was okay with it. The Albino smiled.

“Okay. You want the Black Hawk and the man with the dogs to get killed and your family to be safe. In exchange, you talk and agree to work exclusively for Frashluc. Think Korther has forgiven you a lot, but he’s not going to forgive you this. So it’s… your life for your family’s. Does that sound like a fair deal to you?”

I felt mesmerized by his albino red eyes. In my mind, I thought I heard Adoya’s voice again saying, ‘Your life is not worth the lives of a barber and his honest family.’ And, convinced of this, without further hesitation, I nodded.