5. Last day
1 day until the trial…
Cling. Cling.
Eliza entered the market store with a letter in hand.
Just one, she thought, looking at the wax-sealed envelope.
Early in the morning, at around the time she flipped the store’s sign to “open”, she always checked the mailbox: a habit which she had picked up from receiving daily letters due to a particular job. She felt a sense of amiss in her chest upon not having any letter addressed to her.
I’ll have to get used to not getting letters now… My days will slightly be more boring than before…
‘Quin,’ Eliza approached the cashier’s counter, ‘give this to Tavar, will you?’
‘…’ Quin stared. Then nodded.
She took the envelope, stood up from the stool, and went toward the back.
Eliza had sent Quin to Tavar because she had no interest whatsoever regarding his court trial. All the politics about the corrupt mayor felt like boring trivialities to her; a topic which he could and would talk hours upon hours about. Basically, she had sent her as a sacrifice to take on his ramblings.
Eliza sat down on the stool.
I doubt Quin even cares.
***
‘This is your last day. Tomorrow you’ll have to decide whether you want to continue working here.’ The Manager’s words, kind and gentle, resounded in Quin’s mind as she walked through the hallway.
Quin couldn’t decide.
She had no purpose being here. No purpose being elsewhere either.
Why am I… here?
On that day, having no will for anything, Quin was sitting on the ground under the falling rain: soaked, cold, and—alone. Until Eliza showed up, standing before her. They had exchanged no words, just stares: her void against that… spark. Then, without asking or anything, Eliza picked her up on her shoulder—as if carrying a sack of rice—and carried Quin to the market store.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Why didn’t she… leave me be…
Reaching the back, Quin entered the dining room. There, Tavar was seated at a rectangular table, reading a newspaper. She handed to him his letter.
… I’ll have to ask her.
***
Today is the last day, Eliza thought.
Tomorrow is the trial day, where media coverage will be all over Tavar. Unless the enemy wants to put their employer in the spotlight by killing Tavar in many witnessing eyes, they’ll have to strike today.
Now, what will they do?
***
…
Tick. Tick.
Time moved forward.
On this day, Eliza was stuck at the cashier’s counter.
There were no customers as always, no jobs she could partake as all that was left was to wait, and no Quin to teach reading and writing to as Tavar must have kept her at the back talking about politics to a mute listener. All in all, thus far, to-day had been…
Boring…
Tears welled in Eliza’s eyes.
Regarding Tavar’s job, what she was interested in and looking forward to was only the specialist she might face. Maybe she had expected too much…
What if… the whole thing about her opponent being a specialist was a bluff? That explains the lack of happenings around despite the nearing court trial, Eliza thought. That’ll also explain the arsonists yesterday; maybe it wasn’t a prod, just a poorly done assault.
Eliza shed a tear.
I’m bored.
Cling. Cling.
Came a man clothed with subtle grey cape. He carried in his stare confidence, and in his arm a lyre. No matter how Eliza viewed his appearance, she could only think of him as a wandering musician. Why would such a person show up in this market store? She did not know. And that sparked interest.
Eliza glanced at his cloaked companion behind who strode deeper into the market store.
… Is she a customer? Something about her screamed suspicion. She didn’t even look at the items on the shelves. No. She’s—
Twang…
The man had plucked his lyre, pulling Eliza’s attention.
‘That—’ he said— ‘is what you sound like, Eliza the Still.’ His figure loomed over her, menacing. Though he was simply standing, his posture, in Eliza’s eyes, was without any clear openings. ‘You’re a false note that don’t belong in my piece. I’ll make sure you’re removed.’
‘… Sounds to me that it’s your piece that’s at fault. I’ll make sure it’s fixed. Leave it to me.’
They exchanged stares. Recognized each other as opponents.
Eliza made the first move: she left the stool with a jump, placed a hand on the metallic counter to pivot with, rotated her torso for momentum, and swung her left leg for a kick.
Swish!
Her kick cut the air. He had taken a step back and dodged.
He knows about my kick, Eliza concluded; his fluid movement suggested that he had expected the attack. Her feet were about to land on the floor, prepared to quick start a dash upon contact. Then how about—
Bach swung his arm, strumming the strings of his lyre.
—!
Tring!
The moment the sound reached her, Eliza felt a violent force slamming her from the front. As if there was a moving invisible wall that crashed on her. Receiving the impact, Eliza was blown away, and her back crashed to a real wall.
Blam!
He’s… she stole a glance at her opponent whilst dispersing the pain, the specialist…
… Finally! Eliza smiled.