10. First impressions are the most lasting

Outside, it was windy, snowy, and as my master nakrus would have said, you wouldn’t put a bone out in this weather.

“Your turn, Rolg,” I said to the old elf.

The old elf looked down at his cards, rubbing his chin with his long fingernails, and Yalet yawned, leaning back in his chair.

“Hey, sari, you haven’t told us how your day went yet,” he observed.

I pouted and huffed. Yal smiled.

“More stories about Lesabeth and the Nail-pincher?”

I sighed.

“If it was only that…”

“Come on, tell us,” Yal encouraged me. “There’s nothing like a love story to occupy the winter nights.”

I gave him a mocking look and said:

“Love, you say. Lesabeth is a witch. I’ve already told the Nail-pincher, but he doesn’t listen to me, he even got angry. He likes to suffer. Today, Lesabeth told him he was a hopeless case, a failed poet, and a fool, and Miroki, instead of telling her she was an arrogant, conceited witch, he told her,” and I intoned, raising my hand as Miroki had done, “Oh, you graceful and cruel butterfly who becomes more beautiful the more you fly away.”

Yal laughed.

“For the Spirits’ sake, he’s pretty much hooked on her.”

“Damn right,” I assured him. “But it’s horrible. Even his friend Shudi tells him to leave her alone, that he’s making a world of something not worthwhile. Bah, what a mess. And that’s not the worst of it. Today Shudi told me he wants to paint my portrait.”

Yal frowned.

“Your portrait? Yours? How come?”

I shrugged.

“He said it was original because he had never painted a poor child. I told him that I was not poor at all, but he gave me that will-you-shut-up look, and he started to paint me. I just hope it won’t be like that blackboard of cobwebs, ’cause it’s scary.”

Yal rolled his eyes, and as Rolg played his card, he played his, and I looked at my cards and stuck out my tongue.

“I have no more kings left,” I informed.

“You’re not supposed to say that out loud,” Rolg remarked, amused.

Lost in thought, I sighed, threw down a card, and said:

“But the portrait is not the worst thing either. The worst is that, in fall, Miroki was giving me more free time, and now he keeps making me run twenty thousand errands. He’d even ask me to pick up flowers in the middle of winter if he could. You know, Elassar? I’m sick of magicians and nail-pinchers.”

Yal let out a muffled laugh.

“It shows, it shows,” he assured.

I gave him a detached pout and put things into perspective:

“Anyway, I’m not doing that bad. Today, Rux taught me how to hammer. We fixed a chair,” I explained with pride.

“So you’re going to be a carpenter now?” Yalet laughed. “And how is that reading about crows and loves and ghosts?”

I smiled.

“It’s settled. I told Miroki Fal I didn’t like his book, and he gave me another one. An adventure book. I thought I couldn’t read anymore, but I read most of the new book in one sitting. Spirits… To hell with Miroki Fal’s ghosts…” I huffed, puffing out my cheeks.

Yal and Rolg laughed, and when I realized it was my turn again, I grunted and spread my cards on the table.

“Luck is not with me tonight,” I said.

They showed their cards too, and Rolg smiled.

“Ah, for once I win. Well,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. “Time goes on and on, and at my age, I am no longer fit for long vigils. Good night, boys, and sweet dreams.”

We both answered him, and as the old elf went to his room, I picked up the cards.

“You know, Elassar?” I said. “I didn’t tell you, but I’m very glad you moved out and came to live at the Den.”

Yal smiled.

“You’ve told me that maybe ten times in the last five moons, sari.”

I smiled, tapping the pile of cards to readjust them. Outside, a long gust of wind shook the door in such a way that I could have sworn it was the breath of a dragon. When the door stopped shaking so much, I unconsciously breathed out in relief.

“Listen,” Yalet said suddenly. “We need to talk about… something serious.”

I looked up, puzzled.

“What is it, Elassar?”

“Well…” Yal hesitated, shifted to the chair Rolg had just left, sitting closer to me. “Look, Mor-eldal. Korther has a job for us.”

I looked at him, incredulous and delighted. The kap of the Black Daggers of Estergat had a job for us?

“What job?”

“But, in fact, to complete the first job, Korther wants you to prove to him that you’re skilled enough to do it. And he has given you a challenge. He wants you to go into a wealthy house in Atuerzo and steal something valuable. It’s like a test, to prove to him that he can trust you. I told him you were a quick learner… I don’t know if I should have told him so soon,” he admitted.

I shook my head.

“Which house? Any house?”

“No. A special one. I will guide you to it,” he assured.

“But when?” I asked, in suspense.

Yalet watched me carefully and replied:

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” I repeated. And I smiled, not only because I was eager to put into practice all that Yalet had taught me, but also because I did not like to wait, and it seemed that I would not have to wait long. “So, tomorrow, I become a Black Dagger for good!”

Yal rolled his eyes and raised his hand, showing his index finger and thumb.

“Or at least a Black Pin.”

I looked theatrically offended and gave him a push.

“Pin, your mother! I’m a Black Dagger,” I said.

“And where is your dagger?” Yal teased. At my dumbstruck expression, he patted my shoulder, looking amused. “Don’t worry, you’ll get one someday, forged from black steel by the Blacksmith himself. But not yet. Just think that even I, who was an exemplary student, only got it at fifteen.”

I gave him a mocking pout.

“Exemplary student? Pfft, I’m sure you just got your inkwell out and…”

I fell silent under his imperative gaze, and realized that Rolg did not know of the Elms’ rigged examination.

“Well,” I said. “So tomorrow I steal something? And how will I know if it’s worth anything?”

Yalet rolled his eyes.

“You’ll know, Mor-eldal. It’s all about instinct.”

I believed him, and as he turned off the lantern, I slipped from my chair and we lay down. The wind was blowing, and it came in through the small courtyard and whistled through the grooves of the house. I pulled the blanket up tightly and stirred. I was worried. Was it because of this job for Korther? Probably. It was because Yerris had told me that flies were friends of the nail-pinchers and locked up thieves in the Carnation Prison. Not a very nice place, according to the Black Cat. As if he had guessed my concern, my master squeezed my shoulder briefly and said:

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“You’ll do fine, sari. I have faith in you.”

I smiled and nodded.

“Good night, Elassar.”

“Good night, sari,” he whispered.

Another gust of wind cracked the wood, and I shivered and curled up in my blanket beside my master. He inspired confidence and security. So did my nakrus master. With that thought in mind, I fell asleep and dreamed of squirrels running through the trees and a child jumping from rock to rock, down a stream and singing at the top of his lungs.

* * *

“Turn your head a little to the left, that’s it, that’s it! And eyes straight ahead… Stop picking your nose, you disgusting brat! And don’t roll your eyes, I said face forward. Devils, stop fussing,” the painter exasperated.

Miroki Fal laughed.

“If you want, I’ll tie him to a chair.”

I looked at the Nail-pincher apprehensively, then realized he was joking. I blew out a breath and fixed my eyes on Shudi Fiedman’s. I was getting a little sick of that nail-pinching elf painter.

“Just like that, there!” the painter exclaimed, excitedly. “Don’t move.”

He made several brushstrokes on his canvas and…

“Shoulders straight!”

I clenched my jaws and braced myself. Immobile like my master, I thought. Elassar could stand still for hours on his trunk. The problem was that standing still for so long made my head spin, and finally, when the evening sun was already shining on the painting room, I gave up and sat down on the floor, crossing my legs.

“What a slacker! Get up,” Shudi ordered me.

“I’m tired,” I complained.

The painter huffed and puffed and ignored me, so I guessed that he didn’t need me any more, and at a moment when he seemed totally absorbed in his painting, I crawled out and escaped from the room. Miroki Fal had already gone home, and as it was already late, I imagined that he did not expect me to return. So I opened the main door of the Fiedmans’ house, and out of politeness, shouted out:

“Good evening, Mr. Fiedman!”

And I trotted out of there, hoping that the painter wouldn’t call me to come back. That day, I wasn’t feeling very well. I had a headache, which rarely happened to me. And my eyes were closing on their own, as if I hadn’t slept in days. By the time I reached the Den, I felt as if I had traveled thirty miles. Neither Rolg nor Yal was there, so I lay down on the mattress and fell heavily asleep.

“Draen! Wake up!”

I blinked and saw my Master standing by the door. The sun had already set, and all was dark.

“Hurry up, get up, come on. Today, you’re going to do your first job. On your way,” he insisted in a light tone.

I sat up and stood up, rubbing my face. I felt horrible. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so bad. I tried to brighten up, went out with Yal, and accepted the set of picklocks he handed me. I kept them under my coat and followed him like a groggy ghost.

“You are very quiet,” Yal observed after a moment. “Come on, cheer up. I’m sure everything will be all right.”

I gave a grunt. I could not tell where we were going. I only knew that the house was near the Stone Park and the ruined wall that surrounded the Atuerzo Quarter. The house stood in the middle of a garden with bare bushes that looked like large black spiders covered with snow. Yal stopped near a tree in the Park and whispered to me:

“This is the house. There are two doors, the main one and the service entrance, which is on the other side. Today, there is a ball at the Citadel, and those who live in this house are not here. They’ll be back in a couple of hours minimum, but be on your guard, because there’s probably some servant and probably some anti-theft magara. Come on, Mor-eldal: surprise Korther and bring back something valuable. Good luck.”

I nodded in a daze and stammered:

“I don’t feel good, Elassar.”

“Well, don’t worry, the hardest part is getting started; once you’re inside, it’ll feel like a game. Come on,” he encouraged me. “And remember what I taught you.”

I shuffled away but stopped when I saw a night watchman passing in the street. I backed away and hid behind a tree. Then I kept walking, my head on fire.

“Devils, what’s wrong with me?” I muttered weakly.

I would have liked to ask Yalet, but my hands were already gripping the wall. I climbed awkwardly, entered the garden and moved forward, hitting my forehead with my fists.

“What’s wrong with you, Mor-eldal?” I growled.

I picked up a handful of snow and rubbed it on my forehead. That, at least, woke me up. I reached the main entrance, and remembering in time that I must be discreet, I restrained myself from banging my head against the door to rest it a little. I leaned on it, but discreetly, and pulled out a picklock. As I was not yet an expert, I cast a perceptist spell to get an idea of the lock. And I saw that the door was locked from the inside. Sighing, I walked away, around the house, and approached the entrance for servants. I managed to force it open, disabling an alarm first. Before pushing it open, I cast a silence spell and succeeded quite well: the door opened without a sound. I went in, closed the door, and seeing a chair beside it, sat down heavily. I was shaking with cold and felt like throwing up. But why?

“Come on, Mor-eldal,” I moaned softly.

After a while, I got up and walked towards what seemed to be a living room. And I found some stairs. I went up as quietly as I could. I opened a door at random and entered a room. As soon as I heard snoring, I said to myself: not there. Half in the world of dreams, I came out and went to the back room. It was locked. It took me a long time to open it, even with my perceptist spells. When I did, I made sure that the room was empty. I turned on a very dim harmonic light and… sat down in the middle of the room.

“Search, search,” I muttered. I lay down on the comfortable carpet, and although my energy stem was already quite consumed, I cast another perceptist spell. Closets, chairs, mirrors… Ha, did I really think I would find the owners’ jewelry like that?! My energy stem would go crazy and make me apathetic before I could find anything.

I sighed and was about to undo the spell when suddenly I felt something just below me. A hollow. Could it be that…?

I pulled the carpet aside and rolled it up, exposing the wooden floorboards. There was something there. I nervously reached in with my fingernails and managed to separate the boards and lift one of them, revealing a small hole. A pocket? Yes, it was a purse, and what was inside looked like money. I thought that if the owner had hidden it here it must be valuable, so I put it in my pocket, put the board back in, unrolled the carpet, and… I heard a creak in the corridor.

“Ribs and clavicles,” I stammered in Caeldric.

I retreated to the bed with the intention of hiding under it, but then I thought that, if it was the owners, they would eventually find me. The footsteps were getting closer. I was already resigning myself to going straight to the Carnation when suddenly I saw something behind a window. A branch. And it was close. I quickly opened the window, and just as the door handle turned, I jumped up and grabbed onto the branch. I mostly used my right hand—resistant to all adversities—I surrounded myself with harmonic shadows, and forgetting for a moment my discomfort, I recovered my tree-climbing instincts and was down in a flash. I heard the high-pitched cry of a woman in dismay.

“An Evil Spirit! Help! A ghost!” she shrieked.

I took off running, climbed over the wall, and entered the Stone Park without slowing down. The blood was pounding frantically against my temples.

“Draen!” I heard someone whisper.

I stopped, wheezing.

“Elassar! They saw me!” I stammered.

I heard him swear and saw him quickly come out of his hiding place.

“What do you mean, they saw you?”

“A woman did. But she mistook me for a ghost,” I exhaled.

Yal sighed loudly.

“Let’s get back to the Cats, quick.”

He took me by the arm, and we walked out of the Stone Park. We went down the stairs, and in a few moments, we arrived at a dead end full of disparate objects. I was shaking and chattering my teeth.

“Elassar…” I murmured.

“Wait,” Yal said.

He knocked on a door, and no sooner had I leaned against the cold wall than Yal grabbed me by the coat and pushed me inside. There was a lot of light. And it was stiflingly hot. But I was still shivering. Sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace was a brown-haired elfocan with scaly eyebrows and violet eyes with vertical pupils like those of Little Prince. As people would have said: he was a devil. He wore dark clothes, and in his hands, he held a completely black dagger.

“The lad from the valley, isn’t it?” the kap inquired.

Yal nodded; Korther smiled at me and said:

“Good evening. And congratulations on your first job. Did it go well?”

I opened my mouth and stammered something unintelligible. The kap looked at me curiously.

“Uh… okay. Don’t worry, I won’t bite. You stole something, I suppose, didn’t you? If you didn’t, don’t worry: it’s good enough for me that you went into a house and came out in one piece. Come here, come here,” he said, when he saw me take out the little bag I had stolen.

He took it gently out of my hands and emptied it into his palm. Five black marbles slipped out. I heard Yalet clear his throat:

“Uh…”

But Korther examined the marbles with interest.

“How curious,” he muttered. “You’ll be surprised to know that your apprentice has just stolen salbronix pearls, Yal.”

I heard Yal sigh with relief, as if he had feared that these beads were really just marbles.

“Listen, lad,” the kap added, looking into my eyes. His violet, reptilian eyes suddenly looked very large to me. “What do you say I buy them from you for five siatos, huh? Yeah, I’ll give you five.”

I, who was not in the right state of mind to think, whispered:

“It runs.”

Korther frowned slightly.

“You don’t look well, lad.”

I saw his hand reach for me, and with a sudden glimmer of caution, I drew back and staggered. This time, Yal looked at me more closely in the firelight, and his dark eyes flashed with concern.

“Sari? Sari, are you all right?”

I shook my head and stammered:

“Elassar, I want to go home.”

I felt his icy hand on my forehead and heard him gasp.

“By the Four Spirits of Dawn, you’re burning!”

“I want to go home,” I repeated.

“Damn it, take him away, Yal, and put him to bed,” Korther sighed. “And look after him well, because I want him ready in ten days.”

I looked at him, my eyes half closed, and mumbled without energy:

“Ready for what, sir?”

The elfocan smiled at me.

“Ready to steal the greatest jewel in Estergat.”

I stared at him, blinked, and suddenly, my head began to spin, and I gave back everything I had in my stomach, right there on the floor of the Black Daggers Hostel. And I even splashed the kap’s boots. Korther’s smile had turned into a petrified grimace of disgust. I saw him swallow saliva. I spat, leaning on the floor, my arms trembling. My mouth was on fire.

“Patron Spirit!” Yal stuttered, crouching down beside me. “Sorry, Korther. He’s sick—”

“It’s all right, take him away,” the kap cut him off. “You better get well soon, kid. Now, get out.”

Yal picked up the cap I had dropped, put it on me, and lifted me with both arms with no apparent difficulty. I clung to his neck as best I could. My mind kept lurching and sinking. I heard the sound of a door being closed. Then the rhythmic sound of boots crunching in the snow.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Mor-eldal?” Yal snorted as he moved forward, holding me tight.

I groaned, and after a silence, I asked:

“Am I really sick?”

“Damn sick,” Yalet huffed.

“I’ve never been sick,” I sobbed. “Am I going to die?”

His brief silence transported me to that world full of spirits and ancestors the temple priests spoke of. And to think I didn’t even know my own ancestors! I waited anxiously for Yal’s answer, overcome with dread. Fortunately, it did not take long to come.

“No, sari,” my master murmured. “What are you saying, of course you won’t. I’m going to take care of you. You’re not going to die.”

He kissed me on the forehead. Absolutely convinced that my master was telling me the truth, I closed my burning eyes and sank into a deep delirium.