44. Long live Diver

I could hear peaceful voices around me. I was so sleepy that I did not know whether I was dreaming or awake. Then I felt a hand shake my shoulder, and I let out a sleepy moan.

“Come ooon, get up,” a serene voice said.

It was Abe’s voice. His strong arm pulled me away from the table, and I sat back in my chair and rubbed my eyes, blinded by the light of the fire that still glowed in the fireplace. I saw a figure sitting in the chair of the Black Daggers’ kap, and… I woke up suddenly. Blasthell. I had dozed off and now… where the hell was Yerris? I looked for him and saw him lying on his bench, apparently asleep. Then I saw the muffled face of Aberyl. His eyes were smiling at me. Korther, on the other hand, was not smiling.

Without saying a word, the kap folded the fingers of one hand, inviting me to approach. I stood up, and as I took a few steps towards him, I thought of telling him that I was very sorry for that night in the Ravines, that—I don’t know—that a spirit had taken hold of me, or something, but of course I didn’t say anything, because I was afraid of blundering again. And when I stopped in front of him and met his violet reptilian eyes, I saw the silence drag on and my nervousness increase. I moistened my lips, breathed in, breathed out, and searched Korther’s face frantically for some hint that he had forgiven me, and I found none. He was waiting for me to apologize. And I was unable to do so. Instead, tears filled my eyes and began to flow profusely down my cheeks.

Korther snorted softly.

“That’s all we needed. Can’t you say ‘I’m sorry’, lad?”

I sobbed and hiccupped:

“I-I’m s-sorry.”

The elfocan accepted my apology with a satisfied look.

“Good. That’s a good first step. Stop crying, boy. Your tears won’t make you a better Black Dagger.”

He looked at me with a small smile, inviting me to calm down, but I was on a roll and couldn’t stop. Seeing this, he wiped the smile off his face and turned to Aberyl with an exasperated expression.

“Should I shake him or something?”

Ab gave a muffled laugh.

“You’re the kap. You’re supposed to know how to handle your saris.”

Korther pouted and awkwardly patted my shoulder, muttering:

“If you think that you’re going to make me forget your bad trick with yours tears, you’re mistaken, lad. And I’m not going to console you as if I were your mother, either. Oh, come on, now. Pull yourself together, boy.”

Finally, I made an effort and calmed myself. I wiped my nose on my coat, and the kap made a face of disgust.

“You’re the elegance itself, lad. Tell me, did you come to the Hostel for any special reason?”

Somewhat ashamed of my performance, I shrugged, inhaling sharply.

“Yes. Well. I think so. Yabir and Shokinori are in Estergat. I saw them in the Cat Quarter.”

Korther smiled, and his smile widened. He glanced at Aberyl before saying:

“Really, lad?”

“Yes,” I said. “The wolf chased me again. In the Labyrinth.”

“The day before yesterday,” Korther specified.

I nodded and then petrified, looking into his eyes.

“How do you…?”

“You’re not going to believe this,” the kap smiled. “The Undergrounders were looking for someone who could break into a highly secure location, and in their search… they came across a Black Dagger. Yabir is a scholar and speaks Owram perfectly. His Drionsan, however, is horrible. But understandable. Shokinori, on the other hand, doesn’t understand a word. Apparently, he’s a bit like his bodyguard. Except they’re both hobbits and let’s just say their appearance doesn’t impose much,” he joked, laughing. “Well, as you can see, the business is going well. It’s a pity that you and I have lost our mutual trust, because otherwise I would have given you a very important mission.”

I looked at him, speechless. Korther glanced at me mockingly and, rubbing his beard, said:

“That’s the way life is, lad. How is Yerris?”

Strangely enough, he was asking Ab. Ab leaned over to the Black Cat and felt his neck, as if looking for a pulse. Only then did I notice the empty bottle on the table beside the harmonica… An empty bottle, I repeated to myself, suddenly alarmed. Could it be that…? I took a deep breath and asked:

“Is that the potion?”

“Yep,” Aberyl confirmed. “Dessari Wayam did leave it in the house before he left with those weird twins and big dudes.” He gestured vaguely to Yerris and added as he stood up, “So far, he’s not having convulsions like last time. Hopefully the potion will work.”

The young Black Dagger sat down in a chair, and as he did, he picked up the harmonica and examined it curiously. I frowned and was about to tell him not to touch it, that it was the Black Cat’s, but, tense as I was, I held my tongue. As Aberyl balanced himself on his seat and leaned his boots on the table, the kap resumed:

“Well, what is it, lad? If you came to the Hostel, I suppose it was with the intention of getting my forgiveness—and of behaving from now on like a Black Dagger and not like a snotty coward and deserter.”

I felt myself turn pale and looked at him warily.

“Yes, sir. But the alchemist…”

I moistened my lips and fell silent, and Korther arched an eyebrow.

“What’s up with the alchemist, lad?”

I swallowed my saliva.

“Well… he’s gone.”

Korther shrugged.

“I know. In his note, he says he will do everything he can to find the cure for the sokwatas. What more do you want? You will get nothing by chasing him and threatening him. Let it be. Look at Aberyl: he waited five years before he found a cure for his energy instability.”

I arched an eyebrow. Energy instability? Ab? At my surprised look, Aberyl made a smiling pout, left the harmonica on the table and declared cheerfully:

“This gnome is the best alchemist in Prospaterra. Trust me, kid: I tried to convince him to stay and work with us. He’s made us some absolutely brilliant products… But, unfortunately, he said no. I, Dessari Wayam, will never collaborate with a bunch of criminals again,” he quoted, mockingly, raising his index finger. And he sighed, “And to think we treated him so well…”

“Mmph. Treat the beggar like a prince and he will forget even your name,” Korther pronounced. His eyes fell on me and sparkled with the glow of the fire in the fireplace. “Tell me, lad. Can you do me a favor?”

I opened my eyes wide. A favor! I nodded, eager and anticipating.

“Well, natural! What favor?”

The kap looked at me for a moment before smiling.

“Get out of here.”

My heart sank. I nodded again, nervously, and backed up to the exit door, glancing at Yerris’ still body.

“I-It runs,” I stammered. I withdrew the bar, pulled on the handle, and the cold outside made me flinch. “Ayo,” I muttered.

Korther did not look at me. But just as I was about to close the door, I saw him frown, his expression slightly disappointed. Had he expected me to react differently? To maybe ask him to trust me and give me a second chance to complete this mission that was so important to Shokinori and Yabir? But, seriously, what for? To have the wolf of those Undergrounders pounce on me again? Good mother. That I didn’t want to come across that monster again didn’t mean I was a snotty coward… did it?

I hesitated for a few seconds at the closed door, then turned my back on it and walked away down the Bone Street. After a while, I realized that I was heading for the Timid River and not for the Fairbank Pension. And I also realized that I was not feeling well. I recognized the symptoms: an unpleasant tingling in my eyes, numbness in my hands, a general uneasiness that would soon get worse…

“Blasthell,” I growled.

In principle, the effects of the sokwata should have lasted at least two more days…

I stopped in the middle of a deserted street, taking my head in my hands.

Well, what should I do now? I didn’t know if the alchemist had left a supply of sokwata, but it could be. However, I hesitated because I had no desire to go back to the Hostel to ask for it.

I continued to walk aimlessly, trying to think. I could go to The Joyful Spirit and ask Le Bor for karuja. I knew he would give it to me even though I didn’t have much to give him right now. However, I was going in the opposite direction. Maybe because I didn’t want to disappoint Le Bor? Maybe.

When I reached the Timid River, I knelt down by a trickle of water in a not too dangerous rocky spot and thrust my hands into the current. Despite the cold night air, the water was warm. I drank and muttered faintly:

“What are you doing, Mor-eldal? What the blasthell are you doing?”

I had to get moving. I thought of my cronies and Rogan. They’d taken sokwata a few days after me, and probably they were all fine. At least, that was something.

With some difficulty, I got up and, trembling from head to foot, walked back down the street which went along the Timid River to the River of Estergat. I felt as if I had turned into a lame spirit wandering aimlessly through Estergat. I was moving forward, and I didn’t really know where. Suddenly, I came to a staircase, but I did not see it and slipped. I fell rolling down, and the Spirits of Good Fortune must have been on my side, for, apart from bruising my whole body, I miraculously escaped alive. When I got down I let out all the air in my lungs along with a:

“Isturbag.”

With an effort, I straightened up and saw that two figures had stopped near me and were bending down, picking up… coins. My coins.

“You bastards, pop off…” I mumbled under my breath.

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I got up, and the truth is that I was not sure what my intentions were, but in any case I could not put them into practice, because at that moment one of the profiteers turned and pushed me. He did not do it with much force, but enough to send me to the ground again, given my condition. The thief laughed.

“Hell, the kid’s drunk as a skunk. I can’t believe he’s not dead after a fall like that.”

“The spirits protect the drunkard and the child,” his companion replied. “Come on, don’t dawdle.”

Soon I stopped hearing their footsteps and straightened up again. I went to pick up my cap which had fallen off, and wobbled on down the street. After an eternity, I came—I think—to the street which was just above the Hippodrome, and which bounded the lowest part of the Cat Quarter. I walked slowly along it until I saw two figures sitting on the threshold of a ruined house that was covered with vines. They were barely visible in the darkness, but my instincts told me that they belonged to Swift’s gang. Hadn’t Diver told me that they had recently moved into a ruined house with a magnificent view of the Hippodrome? Without much thought, I approached, trying to control my trembling. Finally, I stopped, and the two gwaks stood up.

“Who are you?” one asked curiously.

I replied in a measured voice:

“Sharpy. Is Swift here?”

I heard them muttering to each other, and at last, one of them said:

“He’s here. But you don’t wake him up in the middle of the darkmans. He’ll fly off the handle if you do.”

I shrugged and crossed the threshold without them holding me back. Part of the dilapidated interior had a half-finished roof of boards and tarpaulins. Underneath were huddled forms. I stopped, staring at them. I don’t know how long I stood there doing nothing, but at last, I opened my mouth to ask for help… and before I could get a sound out of my throat, I collapsed.

I fell on someone who uttered a curse. Then I heard confused voices and felt hands turning me over to lie on my back. It was very dark, and I could not recognize the figure who patted me on the cheek and said:

“Open your mouth, shyur. Thunders, open it and chew on this.”

I listened, though my mind noticed that this gwak was not giving me the usual karuja pill but something in the shape of a stem. I swallowed.

“Hell, come on, chew. Otherwise, it’s not as effective. Here. This time, chew it for real.”

I took the second stalk and chewed. Incredibly, the pain gradually subsided. When I finally recognized the voice of my savior, I winced. It was Syrdio. I snorted.

“What… is this thing?”

“Asofla,” another voice answered. It was Diver. “Don’t worry, I’ve been taking it for three days, and I’m still alive. People say it’s toxic, I know, but it doesn’t seem to affect sokwatas the same way. At least that’s what I think. One good thing about asofla is that it grows everywhere. Now, what the hell did you come here for, Sharpy?”

I sat up and continued chewing the asofla. It tasted bitter. Asofla, I repeated to myself in disbelief. I knew what it was: it was a black plant that grew like a weed near the river and on the sides of the paths. One of my first days in Estergat, Yerris caught me pulling one out and nearly scared me to death when he shouted, “Let go of that, shyur, it’s the hand of the devil!”.

I bit my lip and shrugged. Hand of the devil or not, it had just brought me back to life. And it was fabulous news. More than fabulous. Because it meant: goodbye sokwata, goodbye karuja… and goodbye alchemist!

Finally, I explained:

“The alchemist says he’ll keep looking for the cure, but he legged it, and I don’t know where he is.”

There was silence. And then Syrdio whistled:

“You lost the alchemist?”

Immediately, I felt the atmosphere heating up.

“He legged it,” I repeated. “But he says that—”

“Isturbag,” Syrdio interrupted. “The Black Cat doesn’t know where he is either?”

“No. And neither does Sla. The gnome is gone,” I insisted. “And Korther doesn’t want to deal with this anymore—”

“The Black Dagger kap?” Diver questioned.

“Dead round,” I confirmed.

I breathed in sharply when Syrdio pushed me down, grunting his displeasure. The more I chewed, the less my eyes burned, and the more every muscle in my body ached… from that stupid fall down the stairs. I stood up feeling as if I had been crushed by a stousteeler. And seeing me standing, Syrdio pushed me again, and I hit the ruined wall with a gasp.

Diver stepped in, protesting:

“Hey, Syrdio, don’t get mad! It’s not Sharpy’s fault. If it wasn’t for the Black Daggers, the Alchemist would still be with the Ojisaries, remember? Besides, who cares about the Alchemist now? We have the asofla. Put some water in your wine,” he insisted.

Syrdio became quiet, he gave a “bah” of indifference, and walked away without a word. I noticed that other gwaks had awakened and approached me to see what was going on, but most were still asleep.

“Diver,” I said in a low voice. “If you already knew about the asofla the other day… why didn’t you tell me?”

From his brief silence, I could tell that he was grimacing with uneasiness. He replied:

“Like I said, I was testing.” He grabbed me by the sleeve and motioned for us to move away from where the gang was sleeping. Limping a bit, I followed him to a ruined wall as he said, “It was a lucky guess. I was over there towards Lysentam, and I knew I wouldn’t make it to Estergat alive without karuja, so I thought: to hell with it. And I put a big handful of asofla down my throat. I thought I was going to die, but the plant brought me back to life. It doesn’t fix everything,” he admitted. “But it’s almost as good as karuja, and one good thing is that you don’t have to break your back to get a stalk: it grows everywhere! So, problem solved. To hell with the alchemist.”

He gave me a cheerful pat on the back that made me grunt in pain.

“Careful, you demon! I’m all banged up,” I protested, massaging my shoulder.

“Oh, really?” Diver said, surprised. “Did the Black Daggers beat you up?”

I huffed.

“No, no, that’s not it. I fell down a flight of stairs on my way here.” Diver laughed, incredulous, and I assured him, “I’m not lying. I hurt all over.”

“Well, I’ve got a cure for beatings and falls, if you like. Here.”

He put something round in the palm of my hand.

“What is it?”

“What is it, you ask? Don’t tell me you’ve never had any! It’s passwhite. It kills pain, it makes the cold go away, and it revives the spirit. It’s like radrasia, but it doesn’t give you a hangover. It even works better if you’re sokwata.”

Diver praised it so much that I swallowed the candy without hesitation and continued to chew the asofla stem. I felt no change, but still I said:

“Thank you.”

Diver leaned against the wall.

“You’re welcome. At least this way you’ll be cheerful tonight. Are you still working at the Swallow?”

“Yes. And you?”

“Me? I’ve taken to spending time in the taverns of the Cats,” he declared. “I run errands. You should do the same. Spending the day out when it’s cold is bad for your health. A beauty from The Blue Flame told me so, you know.”

I twisted my mouth into a pout and in turn praised my work:

“When you run, you don’t get cold. You have no idea how many people I know in Wheel Road, Rose Street… Well! If only you knew… And…”

I laughed and staggered. Diver helped me to regain my balance and sit up. A strange euphoria was overcoming me, and overwhelmed by a pleasant warmth, I continued to chatter about the Swallow and my work encounters. I don’t know exactly what I told him. Nothing very coherent, surely. In the meantime, Diver shared with me a small supply of asofla that should last me a few days. At one point, I suddenly broke into song, and my companion, bursting into laughter, gagged me with his hand so that I would not wake the gwakery. Long afterwards, when the other companions were already beginning to stir in the shelter, I continued to rave on and on:

“And I’m telling you, mate: long live the gwak! The nail-pinchers have gold and silver, but we have bones. Bones! My master says that’s the most important thing. It’s vital.”

“Natural,” Diver laughed. He sucked the smoke from his smograss cigar and passed it to me.

“Natural,” I repeated, accepting it. “And, mate, my cronies are worth much more than gold and silver, because they have bones. That’s very easy to understand. I’ve known it for a long time. You’re listening to me, right?”

“For quite some time,” Diver repeated with application while stifling a yawn.

I nodded.

“Quite some time. Bones. Yeah. That’s why real necromancers respect life more than demons: because they give morjas to the bones that move and take it from the ones that don’t. You understand, right? We fight for life even beyond death. That’s what my master said, and it’s true.”

“Mm, sure,” Diver asserted. “So you have a master?”

“Of course I have one. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be gone to grass. I’d love to see his skull again. And hear him speak. He’s the one who taught me to sing. I miss him,” I confessed.

There was a silence. My earlier euphoria had gradually turned into a mixture of apathy and melancholy. Then Diver said:

“Sometimes it’s better to have someone to miss rather than no one.”

There was another silence, and then he took the cigar from me and stood up.

“Say, by the way, you know it’s daybreak already? You talk more than the poll parrots from the Cats, Sharpy. You should go back to your cousin’s house before the effect of the passwhite wears off. That way you won’t hurt on the way. It runs?”

“It runs!” I said.

I stood up, and after feeling a little dizzy, I managed to keep myself upright.

“By the way, Diver,” I said then. “Where did you say I should go?”

Diver snorted.

“To your cousin’s. Or the Swallow, for all I know.”

“The Swallow!” I cried. “Of course. I’m going.”

I gave him a big smile, a friendly pat on the back, and left. I did not fully realize my condition until I was already on Tarmil Avenue and passed The Ballerinas. Right next to it was Sunset Street, the street of the barber’s shop, and I stopped to contemplate it. I looked in the window. The shop was still closed.

“No, not the barber shop,” I said aloud. I ignored the cautious look a passerby gave me and said, “The Swallow. That’s where I’m going.”

I was about to turn around when a movement at one of the first floor windows made me look up. The curtains were moving. After a moment, a woman’s face appeared. I recognized her. It was the same girl of perhaps sixteen that I had seen the day before, sitting at the family table. I met her eyes, and then Samfen, too, peeped out his head. I stood as if paralyzed and hesitated to raise a hand to greet them when suddenly someone grabbed me by the neck.

“Will you get out of my threshold, rascal?”

The man pushed me aside, and as he turned to close the door of his house, I gave him the finger by reflex, and walked away with a not very straight gait. I did not dare to look up at the window of the barber’s shop again. I went through the Esplanade to clean my face and hands, and by the time I reached the messenger’s office, I had more or less recovered from the effect of the passwhite, but because of that, all the pains which it had suppressed during the night had reappeared. I sighed. I knew that Diver had not drugged me with ill intent, but now I felt terrible about it… mostly because I feared I had said too much. I had told him about necromancy. Why on earth had I talked to him about bones and morjas and necromancy? The only thing that comforted me was the thought that Diver didn’t seem to have given much credit to my ravings either.

I entered the office when the bells of the Great Temple rang nine. I was late, and the look on Dalem’s face, the office worker, made me realize that the director knew about it. Blasthell. Throwing a general ayo rather discreetly, I passed without stopping. I went to put the uniform behind one of the screens in the corridor, and good mother, the trouble I had to put on the pants… Thanks to my slightly dark skin, the bruises were not too noticeable, but even so, well, they were visible. Remembering the fall, I marveled again that I was still alive. I reached for my three necklaces and felt them with satisfaction. With the protection of the Daglat’s Star, the pendant of my ancestors, and the Priest’s necklace… even if the devils threw me off the top of the Rock, I would surely survive!

I rolled my eyes at my wild thoughts, reached into my coat for the asofla, and stuffed them into the pockets of my uniform. I smiled with joy, for, now that my mind was clear, I fully realized what the discovery of Diver meant. I felt like… like I had been freed from the salbronix mine a second time. I remembered something Yerris had said a long time ago, about how a gwak had to make a living and not everything was handed to him on a plate, and it was true. The alchemist had not solved any problem: a gwak had. My smile widened as I put a stalk of asofla in my mouth. I murmured:

“Long live Diver.”

I sat down on the floor and finished putting on the boots. I put on the cap number forty-two and was feeling in my pockets, looking for my pencil and papers, when Dermen pointed to one side of the screen.

“Boy. The director wants to see you.”

Startled, I looked at the expression of the employee, and when he turned his back on me, I took advantage of the fact to spit out the asofla; I kept it in my pocket and followed Dermen down the corridor without a word to the manager’s office. The door was open, and the manager, sitting at his table, looked up as I peeked my head into the room.

The director was a relatively young human for his position. He was chubby and short, and dressed like a nail-pincher. My office mates thought he was a good boss. But he had his quirks. He considered it vital that we, the messengers of the Swallow, present an impeccable image to enhance the image of the company, and so he promised bonuses to those who came closest to his model of an “exemplary messenger”, who was, for him, a clean, active, obliging, discreet, and… punctual boy. I looked into his green eyes and thought I saw a clear message in them: you are fired.

Following Yum’s advice on how to suck up to an irritated boss, I respectfully removed my cap, entered the office, and asked in a professional tone:

“You called me, sir?”

“Draen Hilemplert,” he said bluntly. He leaned back in his chair and glared at me. “You’re an hour late for work, and to make matters worse, your face is all bruised… You’ve been on your best behavior up to now. I hope it won’t happen again.”

I blinked. Good mother, he wasn’t firing me! With difficulty, I suppressed a smile, jumped inwardly with relief, and tried to put on a sorrowful air.

“Excuse me, sir. Actually…”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” the director cut me off. At his clearly disappointed expression, I looked down and thought it prudent to keep my mouth shut. After a silence, he added: “Your fault remains on record, and I will not forget it. Dermen! Give the boy some ointment and let him fix his face a little. And then get to work. Only by working can one earn his bread honestly. Isn’t that right, Draen Hilemplert?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, with an air of conviction.

The director’s expression became more friendly. He released me, and I left the office, breathing out softly to finish calming myself. Kindly, Dermen helped me cover the scratches and bruises with an ointment. He didn’t ask me how I got them, and I didn’t say anything.

“You’re ready to go,” Dermen then announced with a small smile.

I returned his smile and was about to walk away when Dalem, the clerk, appeared in the hallway with a troubled expression.

“Boy! Oh… You’re here. Uh… Wait a moment, will you?” he said. And he knocked on the door of the director under my surprised look. Demons, what was going on now?

Frowning, I approached and managed to hear what Dalem was saying to the director in a nervous whisper:

“A police officer is looking for the boy…”

“What boy?” the director replied in a louder voice.

“Uh… Draen Hilemplert,” Dalem replied.

When I heard my name, I stopped dead in my tracks and turned deathly pale. Good mother, and why were the flies looking for me now?