17. Don’t tempt the devil

Looking at Rolg in fascination, I let out all the air in my lungs and uttered a timid:

“Rolg?”

Rolg half stood up, as if struggling to straighten up, he let out a guttural growl and roared:

“Don’t come near me! Go away… Go away and don’t say anything or…”

He did not finish his threat; his hands grew darker as he brought them to his head, his teeth sharpened more, and I thought I saw his face change shape. He gave another animal snarl and hissed:

“Go away and don’t come back!”

With a strange agility, he rushed towards me. I only had time to open my eyes in terror before Rolg slammed the door of his room shut. I heard him barricade it from the inside and thought no more about it: I ran out of there with the impression of living a nightmare. First, Miroki Fal and his will, then Warok and his crossbow, and now Rolg forgot to lock his door, showed me his teeth, and threw me out!

“I knew he was hiding something,” I said as I walked up the street, still shaking a little. “I knew it!”

What I didn’t understand was why he was driving me off like that. Well, okay, a demon was supposed to be a horrible creature, one that ordinary sajits didn’t like… a monster, in the end, as dangerous as a nakrus. And as a matter of fact, this time, perhaps it was a truly dangerous being, given the difficulty Rolg seemed to have in controlling himself. His words still echoed in my head: go away and don’t come back! And it had to happen just after Yal had left Estergat. Did Yal know? Did he know that the elf who had taken him in and housed him for seven years was what the sajits called a demon? A demon, I repeated to myself, incredulous. That was all I needed. If demons really hated necromancers, blasthell, how lucky I’d been not to open my mouth too much the year before. I only hoped that Yal would make sure to keep my skeletal hand a secret…

With a loud sigh, I put my right hand to my chest, where my silver necklace had hung for years, but all I found was the hurried beating of my heart. No doubt about it: by removing the pendant, the Spirit of Bad Fortune had cast the evil eye upon me.

I didn’t know where to go, so I went to The Wind Rose. I approached the counter, sat down on one of the stools and said:

“Mr. Tavern-keeper, today’s menu.”

It was already around noon, and the place was full. Many eyes turned to me in surprise. The tavern-keeper did not look at me with less surprise, but served me a plate of porridge with a roll. I paid him and began to eat, without a word, hearing without listening to the quiet din of the tavern. I finished, cleaned myself up with my sleeve and slid off the stool.

“Hey, kid!” the tavern-keeper called to me, poking his big bearded head over the counter. “What’s the matter with you? Aren’t you going to sing something for us today?”

I shrugged.

“It’s just… today’s a weird day,” I said.

“Gosh! Don’t tell me you’re depressed?” the tavern-keeper worried.

A red-headed guy named Yarras intervened:

“Even the most seasoned can be sometimes. Come on, kid, tell us what’s wrong. By any chance, did you get caught by the flies?”

I shook my head.

“No, it’s not that.”

I noticed that more than one table was now listening. They were probably wondering what could have depressed the daily bard of The Wind Rose.

Yarras frowned.

“I see. Trouble with some gang, huh?”

I grimaced and nodded.

“Big trouble.”

With the main mystery solved, people turned their attention back to their meal. After all, what gwak had never had trouble with some band? However, instead of losing interest in my case, Yarras motioned for me to come closer. I did so. This redhead was not born yesterday. From what I’d heard, he was the defender of The White One, the matron of the most famous public house in the Cat Quarter, The Blue Flame. In short, it wasn’t any Cat, and he knew a lot about survival tricks.

“A pint for the kid,” he said. “It’s my treat,” he added.

He gave me the jug, and we sat down at a small table in the distance. Yarras’ eyes were watching me over his own glass.

“So? Who do you work for?”

I frowned.

“For no one.”

Yarras rolled his eyes.

“But of course. So you’re a loner, you earn goldies, you eat like a nail-pincher, and you don’t have a band. Am I right?”

“You’re damn right,” I said.

“Mmph. That’s a dangerous position, shyur. And I don’t really believe it. Don’t you have any friends?”

I bit my lip and nodded silently.

“Yes, I do. I used to sell newspapers with them. But not anymore.”

Yarras darkened.

“Devils. Were they popped off?”

I shook my head.

“No, no, they’re alive. Or at least… I hope so. But they’re not letting them out.”

I hesitated, looked into his eyes, and suddenly an instinctive fear came over me. What if Yarras was an Ojisary? The sip of beer I had swallowed suddenly seemed very bitter.

“Hey, kid,” Yarras said to me. “You feeling all right?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“Tell me, Yarras,” I whispered. “You’re not an Ojisary, are you?”

Yarras’ eyes widened.

“By the beard of the Holy Patron Saint,” he let out in a whisper. “You’re in trouble with the Ojisaries? Gosh, that’s what you call rotten luck. This isn’t just any gang, kid, this is the Black Hawk’s gang.”

I sighed, relieved to know that Yarras, at least, was not fraternizing with that gang. He looked at me, his eyes squinting, and leaned over the table.

“I hear that guy is amassing a fortune. You don’t happen to know anything about it, do you?”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I shook my head.

“No. All I know is that these guys took a friend of mine at the end of the winter. And that they caught two guys from Swift’s gang a few weeks ago. And that they almost caught me today.”

Yarras looked at me with interest.

“You escaped? Well done,” he praised me.

I gave him a pale smile, for I was not yet in the mood to claim victory. Yerris was still in that “well”; as for my comrades… who knows where they were.

Yarras looked thoughtful.

“Tell me. Do you have a safe refuge?”

I winced and shook my head. I didn’t. Not anymore.

“Mm. Look, the only thing I can do is give you some advice. Get yourself in a gang. A good one that protects you. If you keep acting like a lone wolf, I see a very dark future for you, boy.”

I absorbed the advice and looked at him hopefully.

“Do you have a gang?” I asked.

Yarras smiled, amused.

“So to speak. Let’s say it’s more like a network of friends.” He paused. “You know The Drawer?”

“I know where it is, but I’ve never been there,” I confessed.

“Too bad, it’s the best tavern in the Cats, but don’t tell this one,” he joked, gesturing briefly eloquently to the tavern-keeper of The Wind Rose. “Look, if by nightfall you don’t find a band, come by that place. I won’t promise anything, but maybe someone will be interested in hearing some stories about the Ojisaries. Such information is worth its weight in gold,” he whispered with a small smile.

The redhead finished his beer, stood up, and patted me on the back, causing me to hit the table.

“Take care of yourself, Bard.”

“Ayo, Yarras,” I said, catching my breath. I saw him greet the tavern-keeper and walk out of The Wind Rose with a quiet gait. A few moments later, I finished my beer, walked past the counter to return the mug, and threw:

Spirit of Passioooon!

I’ve been caught by the chains

of this sweet turtledove.

Prisoner of mad loooove!

The tavern-keeper laughed.

“Here comes our real bard back!”

I smiled at him, said ayo, and set off with the same quiet gait as Yarras, the ruffian of The White One. I took his advice: I went in search of Slaryn and her band. I was sure she would accept me. The problem was that her hideout was probably in the Labyrinth, and it was even more likely that I wouldn’t find it before nightfall.

Keeping as far away from Warok’s shelter as possible, I wandered through the Labyrinth from alley to alley. Most of the people I passed barely glanced at me, if at all, but others looked at me so brazenly that I wondered if Rolg had passed on his black marks to me. However, when I reached the Wool Square, I glanced into the water of a large puddle and saw myself as normal. Well, that was something.

As the hours passed and the sun was about to set, I lost hope and headed for The Drawer.

The Labyrinth was now more agitated. It was teeming with life. The Cats who went out during the day to earn their bread were all coming back more or less happily, some in groups, others alone. Some of the windows were lit with lights, others were in the dark, but that did not mean that the houses were empty. I passed the shelters of some gwak bands who were preparing to sleep, but I did not dare to approach because… to fall in with a band, like that, without knowing them at all, could cause me more trouble than I already had.

I reached the street of the tavern when I heard a noise behind me and saw a shadow moving. Immediately, I ran to the door of the tavern, opened it, and closed it behind me before looking inside. It was not very big, it was warm, two lanterns were shining, and the tables were all occupied. There was a hubbub of loud voices; it smelled of liquor and sweat; and on the tables there were no silver bets but gold.

My entrance hadn’t attracted much attention, and I walked up to the counter, biting the nails on my left hand and looking around. I was looking for Yarras. I couldn’t find him and spun around several times; suddenly, the door opened and the redhead appeared.

“Ayo company!” he said. “Hi, Sham.”

“Hello, rogue,” the tavern-keeper replied with obvious affection. He was a dark elf with purple hair, very light blue eyes, and bluish skin almost as black as Yerris’. “What can I get you?”

“Radrasia,” Yarras replied. As he approached, he caught sight of me and smiled, “Well, well. So you didn’t find a gang, huh?”

“Do you know the boy?” the tavern-keeper asked. Sure enough, he had noticed me before, but now he was looking at me with more interest.

“Of course I know him,” Yarras said, leaning on the counter. “That gwak comes by The Rose every day, and sometimes he sings verses to us like the Soshira Children’s Choir. The kid will make a good town crier, trust me. Unfortunately, some thorns got in his way, and I told him to come by here.”

“What kind of thorns?” an old man inquired.

There was still noise in the little tavern, but not so much as before. I glanced at the faces, and as Yarras seemed to be waiting for me to answer, I said:

“The Ojisaries.”

This time, all fell silent. Yarras smiled.

“Big thorns. He says the Ojisaries have captured friends of his. I wonder why they go around capturing gwaks.”

“Bah! They must make them fast to send them begging,” someone suggested. “No need to complicate things and look for cats’ wings.”

“They’d have to have quite an army of beggars for the Black Hawk’s business to be doing so well,” Sham, the tavern-keeper, replied in a skeptical tone. “I smell a rat.”

“Never better said,” Yarras smiled. “And I’m sure our little guest knows something. They tried to capture him too. And he escaped.”

Many made a face. And I grimaced too.

“I don’t know anything,” I said. “I just want to go save my friends.”

“And a good fellow, too,” the old man approved who had spoken before. “Come here, kid. What’s your name?”

“Draen,” I replied.

“Draen. Tell me, have you entered Ojisary territory?”

I nodded and heard some murmur and comment praising my stupid courage.

“What did you see?” the old man asked.

I shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ve been lurking around there for days. And today… Warok threatened me with a crossbow and said he was tired of me spying on them, and he made me go down the corridor and I…” I fell silent, and remembering that I was not to speak of the mortic discharge, I shrugged again and concluded, “And I escaped.”

“While he was holding a crossbow… Impressive,” the old man said. “What did you say this guy’s name was?”

“Warok,” I said.

“Mm. Do you know any others?”

I nodded, and under everyone’s watchful eyes, I remembered Yarras’ words and said:

“Information is worth its weight in gold.”

The old man rolled his eyes and pulled a siato from his pocket.

“This, if you tell me everything you remember. Runs for you?”

“Sure runs,” I said. “Tif, Lof, Adoya. And the Black Hawk. That’s all the names I know. Tif is a big fellow, a blond caitian, about eighteen, with a head of isturbag. Lof, I’ve never seen him. Adoya is a white human with brown hair, quite tall, with a bunch of bad dogs. I know there are others, but I only know those.”

The old man looked at me, his face thoughtful.

“Good. And tell me, how do you know your captured friends are still alive?”

I turn pale.

“They are alive,” I said.

“Yes, but how do you know?” the old man insisted.

I blinked.

“I… I heard Warok behind the door. I heard him talking about a well. He even put a companion of his in there. Warok is a Spirit of Evil. A real one.”

“A well,” the old man muttered.

“A well?” repeated an elf who carried more weapons than teeth. “If he really did put him in a well, that might be a nice way of saying he killed him.”

I glared at him.

“He didn’t kill him! Yerris is alive!”

They did not listen to me, and the regulars began to chatter, and I felt as if I had spoken for nothing. At least they were interested in the Ojisaries, but I could see that they were not willing to risk anything to help me. I picked up the siato without reproach from the old man, and after seeing Yarras and the tavern-keeper seated at his table, deep in conjecture as to the connection between this well and the new wealth of the Black Hawk, I stepped away, lingered a moment longer in the tavern, and seeing that no one paid me any attention, I said to myself: to hell with the gossips. I opened the door and left.

As soon as I reached the end of the dark and silent street, I felt my prey instincts rekindle.

“Hey! Hey, kid!” a voice said behind me. I turned around, and in the darkness, I saw Yarras approaching. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed.

“Mm. Well,” the ruffian said to me, “anyway, now you know: if you have anything interesting, you come over The Drawer, there’s always some curious person ready to give coins.”

“But I don’t want coins,” I protested. “What I want is for the Ojisaries to release my friends and leave me alone.”

I heard him gently clear his throat.

“Yes. I know that, kid. Listen,” he said, laying a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “That you tried to save your friends proves you’re a good gwak, with a big heart. True friends are like brothers: you give your life for them. But… when they’ve given theirs before, there’s nothing you can do, you understand me? Nothing. Come on,” he patted my shoulder as my eyes filled with tears. “Look for a gang and stop lurking around the Ojisaries. In time, they’ll forget about you. Don’t tempt the devil.”

When I didn’t say anything, he gently nudged my head, turned around, and walked back to The Drawer. I pulled a sleeve over my eyes. What Yarras was implying filled me with horror. Was it possible that this well was, in fact, just a fancy word for Yerris being spirited away and never coming back?

As the priests said that good spirits wandered the world, helping their loved ones, I looked around and whispered:

“I’m not crying, Black Cat. I know a Cat doesn’t cry, let alone a gwak Cat, but you please make sure you didn’t die for real.”

I swallowed and started walking. I walked away from the Ojisaries’ territory, down some stairs, and then finally decided that I had strayed far enough and sought shelter. I climbed up a house, crossed several terraces, and finally chose one, lay down, and, exhausted as I was, fell asleep almost immediately.