16. From scare to scare and from death to hell

When I arrived at the Red Mansion, it was still very early, not even seven o’clock. I had woken up with Yal and wanted to accompany him to the Gates of Moralion where he was to take the coach. That is why I arrived so early, and of course, the door was closed. I was going round the house, passing through the little garden, and shuffling along, when I saw the Nail-pincher leaning against an upstairs window with his head in his hands. He was paler than death.

“Mr. Fal?” I said in a worried whisper. I came running up just below the window. “Are you all right?”

Miroki shook his head, and after a pause, during which I gave him all sorts of worried looks, he threw something at me and muttered something so low that I did not hear him. But I picked up the key and understood that he was inviting me in. I rolled my eyes, put the key in my pocket, and climbed over the wall to the window.

“Spirits, kid,” the Nail-pincher gasped in a weak voice. “You shouldn’t do that. It’s dangerous—”

“There’s no fear,” I said, ignoring him and going inside.

It was the first time I had been in his bedroom. It was at least three times the size of Rolg’s house, and it had a canopy bed so wide that six gwaks could have slept in it. I handed Miroki Fal the key which he had thrown to me, but he made no move, and seeing him so unresponsive, I left the key on his desk and said:

“You look drugged. What’s the matter with you?”

Miroki Fal took a wobbly step and put his hand on a sheet of paper that was on the writing table. He exhaled loudly.

“Listen, kid. This is for Rux. I want you to… tell him not to tear it up. And to accept it. He deserves it. This is my will and testament.”

“Testa… ment?” I repeated. “What’s that?”

Miroki Fal breathed in, shook his head, and, like a sick man more dead than alive, approached the bed. Very slowly, he sat down. I glanced at the will with hostility, and with increasing concern, I took a few steps towards the Nail-pincher.

“Mr. Fal, have you been up all night? You look as if a dragon has been trampling on you. Did you go to the theatre with Miss Lesabeth?”

Miroki Fal shook his head again and lay awkwardly on his bed, his breathing so rapid that I felt the tension rise in me.

“I went there,” he croaked. “I told her what my father said. And she sent me to hell.”

He passed a hand over his eyes, and suddenly, to my amazement, he let out a sob.

“I am… too miserable. Everything is turning against me. I can’t take it anymore, kid. I-I-I’m heartbrok-ken,” he stammered.

I stared at him, bewildered, not knowing how to react to this. The Nail-pincher was in love, he was about to finish school, and he was crying!

“Come closer, Draen,” he continued. In spite of myself I came closer, and he took me by the wrist with a strength that surprised me, given his condition. He whispered, “Sit down, boy. Be like that poor, innocent child who found Sir Lin the Knight on the battlefield and listen to my last words. I, Miroki Fal, renounce this life of prison and solitude. I am alone. I have never been so alone. Lesabeth has abandoned me. I have friends, but they too are attached to their families, to their lineage, and one day, they will become masters who will stop dreaming. For them, our artistic conversations will never be more than empty illusions, youthful fantasies. One day, their parents will ask them to marry, and they will have no choice. And if I were like them, I’d marry Amelaida Arym, secure the family’s future, do business like my father, visit my lands…” His chest contracted abruptly. “But I don’t want such a life,” he sobbed. “Then,” he continued, catching his breath, “this is my choice. My father thinks he can do with me as he pleases. But he is mistaken. He can do nothing with a dead son. I hate death,” he muttered. “But I hate my father more.”

I shuddered with horror, realizing that he was being dead serious. For a moment, I thought of breaking free and running away from there. I sat nervously on the edge of the bed.

“Mr. Fal,” I said. “Mr. Fal! What are you saying? You don’t want to die—”

“I’m already dying,” he cut me off in a whisper. “I’ve had a nice glass of jaodaria. There’s probably only a few minutes left for it to really take effect.”

His sob changed to a dull laugh. I had blinked. I knew what jaodaria was. The plant grew in the valley, and my Master had taught me to recognize it and avoid it: it was deadly poisonous. I took a deep breath. I wanted to cry for help. Maybe guessing it, the Nail-pincher said calmly:

“Nothing can help me now. There’s no antidote for jaodaria.”

I felt my eyes fill with tears. It was all so absurd! A natural anger came over me.

“Isturbag!” I insulted him. “Twenty thousand times isturbag!”

Miroki smiled faintly. His eyes did not glow with madness but rather with sad resignation.

“Think of me now and then, boy,” he murmured. And he took a deep breath. I looked at him in horror as he exhaled, “I can feel it already. I can feel death coming. At last. I loved life, Draen. I loved it. If only I had been born far away from here. If only everything were not so complicated. If only…”

Gradually his arms began to lose their strength. His hand let go of my wrist and fell heavily onto the mattress.

“Coward,” I stammered. “You’re a damned coward, Mr. Fal. Why didn’t you tell your father to go pick bones in a tree? Mr. Fal,” I repeated in a pleading tone.

His breathing became more and more irregular. He was going to die, I realized. He was going to die for good.

“Demorjed, a thousand times demorjed… I’ll never forgive you for that…” I hissed in Caeldric.

Trembling a little, I sat down on the bed and put my hands on his chest. I concentrated. My nakrus master said that jaodaria spread slowly through the body, but nothing could stop it. Except, perhaps, the mortic energy. He had stopped it once, when I was very small and very stupid and I was about to die because of one of those plants. The question was whether I would be able to do the same. I began to extract the energy from my bones and passed it on to Miroki. I also modulated his own mortic energy, turned it into jaypu, and worked to neutralize the intruding bodies while trying to remember the lessons of my master. It wasn’t easy at all. I was neutralizing the lethal particles, but it seemed that more and more were coming, and at one point, I despaired:

“This can’t be happening… He’s going to die on me. Hell, I’m going to lose the Nail-pincher, Elassar, help me…”

I continued untiringly until I feared that my energy stem would eventually be too consumed by so many spells. I stepped aside, my heart cold and drained. I wasn’t going to become apathetic for a nail-pincher, however nice he was. I let all the air out of my lungs and buried my head in the soft pillow. Now all I wanted to do was to run away from there. Nothing I had done had been of any use. I had used up a lot of energy and felt exhausted. After a long time, I opened my eyes and saw Miroki’s dead face. I could not contain a sob. I embraced him and recited in Caeldric:

The Great Death loves us all,

the living and undead,

and takes us to its home

with a gentle embrace.

It took me a while to realize that the nobleman was still breathing. With some difficulty, but not as much as before. He was still in a state of semi-consciousness, but… everything suggested that he was going to make it. I could not believe it. With a heart full of hope, I checked my impressions and sighed at last, truly relieved.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“You damn crazy nail-pincher,” I grumbled.

I jumped to my feet, and as he blinked in a daze, I walked to the desk and took the paper of the will.

“Do you see this paper, Mr. Fal? Do you see it well?”

I tore it before his eyes, and a slight flinch told me that he had seen what I had done.

“So now you know, Sir Isturbag,” I said in a dry voice. “If you want to kill yourself again, you’ll have to get on your feet first to rewrite the will. And now I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back, because you’re nuts, and until you can reason and marry Lesabeth, I’m not saying ayo anymore.”

I dropped the will, spat on it, and climbed out of the window before the Nail-pincher could react. I ran like a gust of wind down the street and quickly left the rich neighborhoods behind, determined not to return except to raid them for nails and that’s all. Blasthell. It was upsetting to have to say goodbye to the Nail-pincher in this way. Mostly because, deep down, I thought he was a nice guy. But, spirits, I was not prepared to deal with such people, with such extravagant ideas. I had saved his life, he could not complain. He had frightened me enough as it was that I shouldn’t have to save him a second time.

I walked along the Esplanade and looked at the people, filled with a tension that I could not quite shake off. I sat down in a corner between two empty stalls, put my arms around my knees and put my head between them. Gradually I calmed down and banished all thoughts of nail-pinchers and wizards.

“Manras and Dil,” I murmured.

Those two, on the other hand… I had to help them. And Yerris too, wherever that “well” was. And one thing was clear to me: there was no point in spying on the shelter night after night. This time, I had to go in. I took a deep breath. If I had entered the Stock Exchange and the Conservatory residences, I could also enter the lair of a Labyrinth gang, couldn’t I?

I looked up and down the Esplanade. It was getting busier, the shops were opening, and the city of day labourers was gradually stretching out. I saw a bunch of kids walking to school with their school bags. And another group of kids who were dragging their feet, near the Capitol, waiting for the temple hour to go begging, panhandling, or “mumping”, as they called it. When I caught the eye of a passing officer, I snapped out of it, got up, and moved away. I walked down Tarmil Avenue and into the Cat Quarter. I went to the Den, but Rolg was out or perhaps still asleep, so I headed for Bone Street without his help, intending to ask Korther for a picklock. Trying to remember some detail, I visited all the dead ends of the street before choosing the one that I thought most resembled the one I had seen on that night. After a moment’s hesitation, I knocked on the door, took a few steps away and hid behind a barrel. To my disappointment, no one opened the door. I sighed and was about to turn back when a hand grabbed me by the neck.

“What are you doing here, rascal?”

I stiffened, and as soon as they let go of me, I turned to run, but then I recognized the face of Alvon, Yerris’ mentor. Well… rather his former mentor. He was still wearing exactly the same clothes, with his blue cape, his red hat, and his green boots. He definitely didn’t meet that thieves’ standard of discretion that Yal had told me about.

“Sir,” I said. “I’m looking for Korther.”

The terrible look Alvon gave me made me take a step back.

“Who are you?”

He hadn’t recognized me, I realized.

“I am Draen. Yerris’ friend. Don’t you remember me?”

As soon as I said the name of the Black Cat I knew I had blundered. Alvon grabbed me by the shirt and threw me out of the dead end, growling:

“Get out of here! Korther’s not here.”

Regaining my balance, I looked at him with a mixture of annoyance and apprehension. His closed expression invited me to step back and leave for good. Damn. With a mentor like that, it was almost surprising that Yerris didn’t betray him out of spite. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, and besides, the Black Hawk didn’t seem like a better person at all, but, hell, now I fully realized how lucky I was to have Yal as my mentor.

Anyway, since I had no picklock, I would have to manage some other way. I went down the slope and didn’t stop until I reached an alleyway already deep in the Labyrinth. There I climbed the irregular front of a house and jumped onto a balcony, then to another higher one, and, without caring about the glances I was given by some Cats sitting on the terraces, I walked along those until I was just above the corridor of Warok’s shelter. The sun had not yet risen high enough to illuminate the richer quarters, but in the Cat Quarter, the light was coming up with the dawn, and I could see the clouds spreading in the distance. The clouds from the southwest were ominous, my master had taught me to recognize them, and I foresaw that it would soon begin to rain heavily.

I was not mistaken: it began to rain cats and dogs. I went down the dead end, made several turns in the area, took refuge on the threshold of a house, and greeted some Cat who, having seen me prowling about there every afternoon, was beginning to know me. It was well into the morning when I went up again to my terrace, which I used as a spy tower. The sky was still very dark, but it was only drizzling, and, wet and muddy as I was, it couldn’t hurt me much anymore.

I leaned over the edge to observe the dead end when I heard a noise behind me.

“If you move, I’ll pierce you,” a voice said.

I froze, wondering what exactly that “pierce you” meant.

“Turn around,” the voice ordered.

I did as I was told, and the fear rose ten steps at once when I saw Warok. He was holding a strange device in his hands. I didn’t know what it was, but it was definitely dangerous.

“So, the little Black Dagger wants to go and keep the big one company, eh?” Warok scoffed. “You’ve been lurking around us for quite a while. You’re starting to get on my nerves. Did your brotherhood send you?”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“What’s that?” I asked, gesturing with my chin towards the dark elf’s weapon.

He smiled wickedly.

“Wanna know? It’s a crossbow, shyur. You see the bolt? Well, if I fire it, it goes through your throat and kills you. If you run away, it kills you. You understand?”

I nodded nervously.

“I’m not going to run away, I swear,” I promised. “Where did you take Yerris?”

The dark elf shook his head.

“Do you really want to know, shyur?”

He took a step forward, and I flinched as I saw the bolt coming closer.

“You’re scared, huh, shyur?”

His green eyes were watching me as if they were evaluating me. My gaze went back and forth from his face to the bolt as I searched for a possible escape. But, blasthell, how was I going to escape with death looming over me?

“You will follow me without making a fuss,” Warok said. “And that way you can see Yerris. Is that okay with you? I told you so, shyur,” he added as I silently nodded. “Only the prudent survive in the Labyrinth.”

This time, I felt the weapon touch my cheek, and I looked away, clenching my jaw. Inwardly, I was thinking: don’t kill me, don’t kill me… And my expression surely showed my silent pleading, because, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a malicious and mocking glint in Warok’s eyes.

He guided me with his crossbow down the stairs of the building. We passed a sleeping man and came to a dead end. Warok did not open the door where I had seen Manras and Dil disappear. He opened another one, further back. He led me inside and pointed the crossbow at me, making me rush in, fell flat on my face, and scrape my knees.

Once, last fall, when I was selling newspapers, a guy called me a rowdy rascal and shoved me so hard that he made me throw all the papers and hit a street lamp. Since then, I had learned that there were many such guys, and I had classified them as unsympathetic. Well, that day, I learned that the unsympathetic were much less terrible than the heartless.

I was kicked in the ribs, and Warok ordered me:

“Get up.”

How was I not going to get up with the crossbow aimed at my head. However, the paralyzing fear was beginning to give way to a more foolish panic, and I sputtered:

“Please, Warok, don’t do this. Let me go. Please!”

“Silence,” he thundered.

He closed the door, put down the crossbow, and grabbed me by the arm with a look that meant, “don’t even dare play a trick on me”. I saw him pull out a rope, and he pressed me against the wall with a firm hand. I thought of sending him a blast of mortic energy, but what if it didn’t work? The only time I’d ever done that was to scare a lynx. I didn’t think Warok would be scared off by a discharge; instead, he would get angry and end up using his crossbow. Unless I threw a real shock, a very strong one, perhaps… Fear overcame reason, and I gathered as much mortic energy as I could, hoping that my still recovering energy stem would not burn up completely. I released the discharge through my hands that he was binding and heard him make a muffled noise. He fell upon me. Unconscious? It seemed so. The problem was that my hands were already tied. Quickly, I passed them in front, crouched down beside the crossbow, and pulled the bolt out before opening the door wide and getting out of there as fast as I could. I reached the exit of the dead end, clumsily climbed the ladder, dodged a woman carrying a large basket of clothes, and ran for it, trying to untie the knot at the same time. I only succeeded when, already far from the cursed dead end, I stopped in a corner of the Wool Square and used the bolt and my teeth alternately to break the rope. Finally free, I broke the bolt in a rage and ran back to the Den. Warok knew where I lived. And for that reason, I had to go home and warn Rolg. I had to tell him that there were madmen looking for me and… maybe he could advise me. Maybe the Black Daggers could give me a hand. I hoped the old man would be home…

I hastily climbed the wooden stairs, pushed open the door and cried out:

“Rolg!”

I rushed to the bedroom door and, without thinking about it, turned the handle and said:

“Rolg, please, you have to help me!”

To my astonishment, when I pushed it open, the door opened. And I stood speechless. In the light from the other room I could see the old elf huddled by the bed. His face had long black marks that expanded and contracted sharply, his eyes were red and bright, and his teeth… his teeth were as sharp as a lynx’s. He looked to me like one of those old men who had been in the woods for a long time. It reminded me of one of those monsters which appeared in the tales of terror in The Gazette. And immediately I remembered what my nakrus master had once told me. He had told me of a people of mutant sajits whose jaypu was unbridled in such a way that they were able to transform into… something very similar to what my eyes were seeing right now. Drasits, he had called them. And he said that some sajits called them demons. ‘Many of these demons hate us more than normal sajits,’ my master had revealed to me in a storytelling tone. ‘Demons worship life and, to them, necromancy is the worst aberration in the world.’ And here I was, face to face with one of them.

But, despite everything… it was still Rolg, wasn’t it?