52. The legendary treasure of a nakrus

“Draen?”

“R-Rolg,” I stammered. “I… I’m glad to see you.”

The old elf looked at me curiously. He carried a bucket full of water in each hand. He shook his head slightly.

“Mm… Likewise, boy. Help me out here, will you?”

“Natural!” I said. But, really, how I wished I could run out of there!

I took the two buckets, and we made our way to the Hostel, he with a limp foot, I with a heart beating with fear and shame. For I was planning to rob Korther, blasthell.

“Yal came by last night to ask where you’d been,” Rolg said in a serene voice. He took a few more steps and added, “He’s moving to a boarding house closer to the Capitol. He says you can drop by his work anytime you want.” He paused. “You all right, boy?”

I nodded. No, I was not all right. Because of that trap earlier, my head felt heavy as if a log had fallen on me. But I nodded anyway.

“Is the Black Cat at the Hostel?” I inquired.

“Yerris?” Rolg huffed. “No. He left yesterday without saying where he was going. He must have found a job. That kid talks more than a crier, but, as soon as it comes to talking about him, he’s like a stone wall.” He said it with a touch of sadness and affection intermingled. He continued, “What about you, boy? What are you doing around here at this hour? I thought you were working as a messenger.”

I winced.

“I do work, I do work,” I assured. “The thing is, I took the day off. I had to find a place for a little kid. But it’s okay now, I found it, and I left him with my cronies. Wind in my sails,” I summarized.

My voice must not have sounded so enthusiastic, because Rolg gave me a curious look before walking into the dead end and pushing open the door of the Hostel. I entered with the two buckets. And my horrified eyes immediately fell on the kap. A book in his hands, Korther was sitting at the table next to a girl about my age, and he was saying to her with a sigh:

“No wonder you got such bad grades in geography, my daughter…”

There was a sudden loud “BANG!”. One of the buckets had slipped out of my hand and water had gushed out like a waterfall, flooding the whole floor.

Korther’s devil eyes struck me, and for a second, I wanted to disappear from the surface of Prospaterra.

“You…” he hissed.

I hurriedly put down the other bucket, picked up the one that had fallen, and between gulps of air, I babbled at lightning speed:

“S-sorry. I’ll go fill it right away.”

Passing quickly by a stunned Rolg, I ran out of there with my empty bucket, blood pounding against my temples. I reached the well before I knew it and helped an old woman fill her own bucket before filling mine. When that was done, I knelt down in front of it and dipped my whole head into the water. It felt glorious. The water was not cold, because it came straight from the Rock. But still it soothed my headache wonderfully.

Hands snatched me from my bliss. I heard an angry voice say:

“Stupid kid! That’s not what buckets of water are for. Any more and you’d have drown. If I were your mother, I’d give you a good thrashing!”

I raised a dripping head of water to the face of a woman who was already walking away while casting reproving glares at me. I sighed, threw the water out of the bucket, and refilled it. Only then did I realize that I had no cap. Where on earth had I left it? In the ruined house? No, I remembered that I had put it firmly on my head before climbing up the gutter. It must have fallen off during my fit of spasms. That wasn’t the only thing I’d left there: I’d also left one of my picklocks. Overwhelmed, I struck the curbstone of the well with my fist and muttered:

“Isturbag, isturbag, isturbag!”

And instead of returning to the Bone Street, I went by the other path, left the bucket on a barrel in the previous dead end, and returned to the rooftops. I found the picklock, just under the window, but no matter how much I looked for the cap, I couldn’t find it anywhere. At last, I hid all my picklocks under a tile a few rooftops away, and thinking that they must be wondering why I did not return with the bucket, I turned back and took the way to the Hostel half walking, half trotting. My headache was almost gone. I arrived, knocked on the door, and the girl came to open it. I remembered that Korther had called her “my daughter”. She had half elf features, but was she really Korther’s daughter? It had never occurred to me that this elfocan could have a family. In any case, the half elf looked at me curiously. I was panting.

“Ayo,” I gasped. “I’ll just put this down inside and leave, it runs?”

With a troubled expression, the girl stepped aside, I entered, and not seeing Rolg, I left the bucket in the nearest corner with the intention of turning around and leaving without even looking at Korther…

“Just a moment, lad.”

I was tempted to pretend I didn’t hear, but couldn’t. I turned to the kap, avoiding his eyes.

“Yes, sir?”

There was silence.

“Zenira. Take the bucket to Rolg, will you, dear?”

The young half elf nodded, closed the front door, lifted the bucket, and left the room, but not without giving me a last curious glance. I looked at her, and at the exit door, and at the picture on the fireplace mantel. I looked everywhere except in the direction of the Black Dagger kap. What if he knew? What if he guessed? Then he would do what Frashluc did, he would gut me, he would throw my heart to the dogs, and… I preferred not to think about it any further. Korther broke the silence.

“I gave Yerris a chance, and I decided to give you one too. Look at me, lad.” I looked at him, and he continued calmly, “It’s about the hobbits. I already told you that they need to get into a tightly secured place. In fact, they want to get into a special library at the Conservatory. And you’ve been wandering across its halls for over six moons. So you’re going to accompany them. In exchange, if you do your job properly, I’ll forgive you your past misdeeds and give you five siatos. Do we have a deal?”

I nodded before I even began to think about the proposal, which was not really a proposal at all. Korther’s eyes showed no satisfaction, but rather uncertainty and distrust.

“If you blunder,” he resumed, “if the authorities nab you, if you lose the hobbits or let them down… I’ll expel you from the brotherhood. Understood?”

I wanted to reply: What if I steal a diamond from you, sir? I scratched my soaked head and answered:

“Natural, it runs. So I have to guide them, round?”

“In a way,” Korther confirmed. “And you will open the doors if necessary. I have kept the duplicates you had made: I will give them to you when the time is right. You will find the hobbits in an inn in Atuerzo; it is called The Fortune. Go there at once. They want to talk to you before planning the trip, and since you’re the only one who speaks Caeldric, you’ll be the perfect guide. As long as you don’t play any of your tricks on us,” he added. His voice was not mocking, it was a warning, a serious warning: I simply could not afford to fail this time. If I failed, goodbye Black Daggers.

Korther added, raising his voice:

“My daughter, it is not right to eavesdrop.”

Then I saw the half elf poke her head in and come out, blushing.

“Sorry, Pop.”

“Bah, bah, sit down and go over your geography,” Korther replied. “If you get less than an eight out of ten this time, I’ll fill your room with maps. Lad: you know what you have to do. Get out of here.”

I nodded and opened the door, saying:

“Ayo, sir. Ayo… uh…”

I was silent, looking at the girl’s face, trying to remember her name. But instead of finding it, I blurted out:

“I don’t know anything about geography either.”

I don’t know why I said that. To my confusion, she smiled at me. I finally shook my head and walked away, taking with me the image of the smiling girl who was bad at geography. She was my age. And wore a pretty white dress. And her eyes were not evil like her father’s, they were brown…

“Zenira,” I muttered as I walked briskly through the streets of the Cats, heading for Atuerzo.

Her name was Zenira. I sighed. I thought of the hobbits, of Lowen, of the diamond… And I sighed again. I was already climbing the stairs to the Atuerzo Quarter when I came across a newspaper left on the ground and picked it up, not to read it but to put it on my head, for it had begun to rain. The rain turned to hail. There were some thunderclaps. And when I finally arrived at the inn of The Fortune, I was soaked. Fortunately, I knew where it was: I had already come to deliver a magigram there a few days before. I pushed open the door and escaped the rain. Unlike other inns, the tavern here was rather small, designed only for those who lived in the rooms upstairs. Just at the entrance was the counter. There was no one there. I took a few steps into the hallway, and… I heard a scream.

“A tramp! Ferris, there’s a tramp in the hallway! Thief!”

Sitting in a chair by the fireplace in the living room, an old woman was pointing at me, looking horrified. My first reaction was to look at her with round eyes. But when I saw a mustachioed caitian come through an open door, stick in hand, I rushed out. The caitian grabbed me with his stick and growled at me:

“Give back what you stole, rascal.”

“Good mother, I didn’t steal anything, sir!” I swore. Unable to free myself, I tried to grab the persecuting stick while explaining: “It’s the old lady, she’s nuts… Ouch! It’s true! I just… I mean, I was sent for a job! Some hobbits… Don’t hit me, please, sir. There’s no need.”

The man had stopped hitting me as soon as he heard about the hobbits. He still asked a lady who was observing the scene to make sure there was no money missing from the cash register behind the counter. And he let go of me.

“What are these hobbits called?”

I breathed in.

“Sho…”

“Finally!” a voice suddenly interrupted. Down the hallway, a costumed hobbit was coming down the stairs. It was Yabir. He gave me a beaming smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, boy. Took you long enough to come.” And he clapped his hands and said in the same horrible accent, “This way! Come on, up the stairs. Room number five.”

He said something in another language to the woman behind the counter. She flushed and said something awkwardly which I did not understand. I knew that they were speaking in Owram, for I had heard it before from Miroki Fal and his friends. Then the old woman in the living room said:

“Foreigners, of course! Otherwise, who would bring a tramp into a house like this! What a shame!”

The decrepit nail-pincher was obviously quite indignant, and if she could have moved, she would probably have come into the hallway to throw her venom. I muttered through my teeth:

“Old hag.”

I think the mustachian heard me, for he glared at me, but he did not hit me, for he did not dare to do so in front of the hobbit who seemed to enjoy my presence so much. I hurriedly followed Yabir’s instructions and went away up the stairs. I found room number five before the Undergrounder reached me. The door was open, and I could see Shokinori sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against a bed with a book in his hands. Next to him was Dakis, lying flat on his back. I swallowed, put a nervous hand on the black stone pendant, and bravely took a step forward. The wolf did not move. Well… I breathed in and smiled.

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“Ayo.”

Shokinori shook his head, and Yabir, who was coming up behind me, pushed me inside, saying happily in Drionsan:

“Come in, boy. Let’s decide on the best route. I’ve heard you’re a good guide. I hope that’s true.”

He closed the door, and I looked at him, bewildered. I whispered in Caeldric:

“I thought the job was supposed to be secret, right?”

Yabir rolled his eyes and chuckled, leaving his hat on a small table next to a huge wardrobe.

“That depends on what job,” he answered in the same language. “My main purpose in coming here was to get this,” he admitted, and pulled the purple stone from his pocket. He tossed it in the air and caught it, looking playful. “But I have other goals. I am a Baïra. And, as a Baïra, before I return the Purple Orb to the Great Library, I have a duty to observe my surroundings and learn as much as I can. This is not the first time I have traveled to the Surface. But this city… is a real conundrum to me. Almost as much as you are,” he concluded, smiling at me.

I arched my eyebrows. I had moved back far enough into the room so that I could see both the wolf and the two hobbits. Dakis’ eyes were watching me. But he did not growl or bark or rush at me. At last, I looked more closely at Yabir and said again:

“A real what?”

Yabir glanced at his companion before saying:

“A conundrum. Don’t you know the word?”

I shook my head. Yabir made a vague gesture.

“Let’s say: a mystery. Tell me, you’re from the Evon-Sil Valley, aren’t you?”

I nodded. Yabir looked at me kindly.

“And… unless I’m mistaken, in the Evon-Sil Valley, they don’t speak Caeldric.”

I shrugged. Yabir cleared his throat. He put his hands in his pockets. And he said:

“I’ll make a confession to you, boy. I know everything. I know that you had a nakrus master in the valley, that you knew a necromancer in this very city, that you have an undead hand, and…” He smiled as if to apologize for a bad joke while adding, “That you owed two siatos to the Swallow and know nothing about geography. All thanks to the pendant Shokinori gave you. It was his idea, not mine. He thought that with it we could spy on that Black Dagger elfocan and make sure he wasn’t messing with us… A very bad trick, I admit, but Shokinori didn’t have the same upbringing as I did, I’m afraid… Are you feeling okay, boy?”

Was he seriously asking? Those Undergrounders had been spying on me for days already through the Purple Orb, lying to me and telling me that this necklace would protect me from the wolf and… and he was asking me if I was feeling okay? Choking, I gave him back a face full of venom, I hurriedly picked up the little black stone, spy of my life, and threw it on the ground as if it was burning me.

“You can’t do that,” I growled in Drionsan.

Yabir made a sorry pout.

“I know that, and I apologize for it. However, I’ve been told that you spied on us when you had the Orb and we had the Opal.”

I swallowed that, assimilated it, and shook my head. No, it wasn’t the same thing.

“I didn’t want to spy on you,” I protested.

“We didn’t want to spy on you either,” Yabir assured. “Our interest was focused on Korther.”

“I admit it was a bad trick,” Shokinori interjected, putting down his book. “And I’m sorry for that. Fortunately, you ran into the Baïras. It could have been worse.”

I looked at each of them in turn. For… Fortunately?

“You’re not going to report me for witchcraft?”

Yabir chuckled quietly, with some nervousness.

“No, boy…” He paused and corrected, “Not if you answer our questions.”

Ask your mother!, I thought, in a bad mood. And I spat on the floor. I could not help it. At once, I heard Dakis’ guttural growl, and all my alarms went off. I jumped back in dismay, and as soon as I saw the wolf move, I began to climb the wardrobe. I had previously spotted the possible holds, and I used them as if I had climbed the closet a thousand times before. I pulled myself up while Yabir muttered to himself:

“Will you shut up, you damn hellhound? Shokinori, tell him to shut up.”

This one hadn’t moved. He looked amused.

“He’s defending your honor, Yabir. If that boy had spat on you in Yadibia…”

“It’s a different culture,” Yabir retorted, irritated. “Dakis, that’s enough!”

He took the wolf by the scruff of the neck as it continued to growl, unperturbed, sitting at the bottom of the wardrobe. His yellowish eyes never left my side. I couldn’t take my eyes off him either. But my eyes were also filled with other approaching wolves. There were seven in all. Like Adoya’s dogs. And my nakrus master was there too, but far away, so far away that I couldn’t hear him, so far away that he couldn’t help me…

I struck my forehead against the wood of the closet. I did it deliberately, to see if the harmonies would suddenly disappear. It didn’t work. Nor did my attempts to undo them work: my damned mind kept creating and recreating them.

“Take him outside,” Yabir demanded.

“No way,” Shokinori replied. “I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“Ah, you think a kid can hurt me?” Yabir scoffed.

“Considering how clumsy you are? For sure,” the other jeered. “He’s a human kid: he’s as big as you. And you’ve already seen a bit of how he lives. Like you say, it’s a different culture.”

“Shokinori,” Yabir sighed patiently. “The boy is scared to death. I thank you for worrying about me, but… now get out and take that quadrupedal fool away.” The growl stopped. “I mean it,” Yabir insisted. “It’s an order.”

Shokinori sighed.

“As you wish, O great Baïra…”

There was a clattering of paws against the wood, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. And then silence returned, interrupted only by the rain beating against the windows. Even so, I could still hear the growling. Part of me knew the sound wasn’t real. And I was angry that I couldn’t get rid of it all at once. All because of a damn dog, or hellhound or whatever that beast was.

There was a clearing of the throat. And another long pause. Then, somewhat calmed, I asked without looking down:

“What’s a Baïra?”

I heard a sharp noise. I glanced around. Yabir had sat on a bed and had closed Shokinori’s book.

“A Baïra,” he said at last in a serene voice, “seeks knowledge of the world, loves what is new, tolerates what is different, tries to understand what he does not understand, and accepts that he cannot understand everything. And, finally, he passes on what he learns to his disciples. This is what a Baïra is.”

“Is it a brotherhood?” I inquired curiously.

“In a way,” he admitted.

“And you’re all hobbits?”

From the top of my closet, I saw him smile.

“No. Any sajit can be a Baïra if they wish.”

I frowned, pondered, and asked in Drionsan:

“Even a gwak?”

Yabir looked up and made an embarrassed pout.

“What exactly does the word ‘gwak’ mean?”

The question left me pensive. How on earth could I explain this to this foreigner? I opened my mouth several times, but in the end, I gave him no answer. I merely said:

“A gwak is a gwak.”

And I felt a little ashamed because Yabir had given me a much more elaborate explanation of what a Baïra was. After a silence, the hobbit said:

“Your master’s name was Narsh-Ikbal, wasn’t it?”

I looked away from the ceiling and at the Undergrounder, dumbfounded. Narsh-Ikbal? I shook my head.

“I don’t know. I used to call him master all the time.”

“Mm,” Yabir mused. “There aren’t many nakrus who are more than five centuries old and native to this area. You mentioned names of nakrus, friends of your master. But you did not mention Narsh-Ikbal.” He paused and cleared his throat. “You can come down from that closet, you know. Dakis is no longer here. Don’t be afraid of that hellhound: he hasn’t eaten sajit meat for many years.”

I glanced warily towards the door and almost cast a perceptive spell to make sure the wolf wasn’t there… but I held back and carefully made my way down to the small table then landed with a bounce, declaring:

“Korther told me that I was to work for you. That I was to help you enter the house of the magicians.”

“And a few hours ago, that was indeed the case,” Yabir confirmed. “But, you see, I happened to meet a gentleman this noon who is very friendly with the Supreme Magician. We sympathized, and he promised me that he would intercede on my behalf so that I could enter and consult the libraries… So that, contrary to what I thought, I won’t need to break the rules of this city. At least for the time being.”

He added something in Owram as a scholarly quote. He was cheerful. I looked at him as if he had offered me a loaf of bread and taken it away.

“So… you don’t need me,” I said.

Yabir raised his index finger.

“At least, not to sneak into the building. A thing I am glad of. You will inform Korther for me and tell him that the other deal still stands.”

I gave him a curious look. The other deal? Gosh. Korther and his twenty thousand deals… Then I frowned thoughtfully. From the hobbit’s tone, he didn’t seem to know about the diamond. Unless he was hiding it very well… but if he really didn’t know about it, if he really hadn’t listened to my conversation with Frashluc through the Purple Orb… well, good mother, if only it were true!

Faced with the hobbit’s questioning look, I reacted, nodded, and answered in Drionsan:

“It runs, I’ll tell him, no worries.”

“Thank you.” Yabir crossed his legs as he added, “On the other hand, boy, I’ve been thinking about… this necromancy thing. Among my people, it’s seen as aberrant and sacrilegious magic. And here, too, from what I can see.” He hesitated, “As a Baïra, I tolerate your practices, but I do not approve of them. I urge you never to try to learn more than you already know. It would do you no good. If you are willing to take my advice,” he added in a lighter tone, “I offer you the honor and opportunity to work with the son of the Great Baïra himself. With all the humility in the world. You see. I am thinking of writing a chronicle of my trip when I return to Yadibia. I’ve already visited the upper parts of the city a lot. The great market. Even Menshaldra. But the lower areas are still a mystery to me. The one time Shokinori and I went in there, we got lost. That’s why I’d like you to offer your help. A simple job as a guide. Nothing easier. I realized, while listening through the Purple Orb, that observing from afar is not at all the same as observing up close. So I’d like you to guide me around the Cat Quarter and show me the places where you… ‘gwaks’ live. Where you sleep. And explain to me how you earn your living. I’ve never studied anything like that, and it seems to me that it’s a topic that will undoubtedly interest more than one student in Yadibia. What do you say?”

I blinked in amazement.

“A chronicle?” I repeated. “What’s that?”

“A book,” Yabir explained. “And there would be a whole chapter dedicated to gwaks. What do you think?”

Damn. What did I think? Pff… Well, it was hard to say. Absurd and flattering at the same time, maybe.

“It works,” I agreed. “But are you gonna pay for it?”

Yabir pouted.

“Well… Maybe a little. But it would only be a day. Two days at most. I’ll let you know when it’s convenient for me. Do you have an address I can send you a note to?”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Uh… an address. Well, natural. Uh…”

I thought about the Swallow, but then I told myself that maybe the director had already fired me for absenteeism. I thought of the barber shop and said to myself: no way. Yal was going to move out, according to Rolg. And I wasn’t going to give out the address of the Hostel. I huffed.

“Sheer Cliff Street, the ruined house. That’s where I live now. There’s no number.”

Yabir nodded, smiling.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“What are you going to talk about in this chapter?” I questioned, intrigued. “Nothing bad about us, right?”

“Of course not,” Yabir assured, rising to his feet. “I shall write with the objectivity of the scholar and the emotion of the poet. As Xenolotes said, mix calculation with music and you will approach the Truth.”

I arched an eyebrow and, after a meditative silence, let out:

“Tell me. If the Purple Orb was in the Underground, how did it end up so far away?”

“Ah,” Yabir said, shaking his head, looking surprised by the change of subject. “It’s a long story.” He looked at me and, seeing my attentive expression, smiled, “You want to hear it?”

“Ragingly so,” I replied in Drionsan. Yabir arched an eyebrow, and I translated into Caeldric, “Yes.”

“Mm. Well,” the hobbit mused. And he took out of his pocket the purple stone and the small black stone that I had thrown on the ground before. He looked at them with a mixture of tenderness and fascination as he said, “The Purple Orb and the Black Opal are actually the same relic that Marevor Helith made almost a thousand years ago. One day, many centuries ago, this nakrus repented of being a necromancer king and taking lives with his undead. He repented and distributed some items among his friends. He gave the Purple Orb and the Black Opal to an old friend who, upon his death, gave them to the Great Baïra of four centuries ago. Only a few moons ago, both the orb and the opal were still in the Great Library of Yadibia, safe and sound. Unfortunately,” he sighed, “someone stole the Orb. For a very long time, it has been said that the White Opal to which the Orb is also linked is in some hidden place, near a treasure. A belief that no Baïra has yet confirmed. But hope digs tunnels. The thief fled from Yadibia and followed the bond. Where other Baïras had failed, he thought he would triumph. But, in reality, he was a student with little experience, and… he entered a very dangerous place. Mercenaries from Yadibia were tracking him using the Black Opal. But they didn’t arrive in time to save him.” He shook his head sadly. “The boy drowned, and the Orb disappeared. And well, my father and the other scholars assigned me the task of going to find it, they gave me the Black Opal, and I left Yadibia with Shokinori and his hellhound. I found the Orb’s trail, followed it, and kept walking through endless tunnels, until I finally found it. On the Surface, to my surprise. In a city that, according to some of my mapmaker friends, is only a few kilometers from Yadibia. Under the sky. And the rain,” he added with a grimace.

I looked at him, captivated. A treasure… The Purple Orb concealed the way to a treasure! Just like in the fairy tales. Wasn’t it wonderful? Yabir’s last words brought me back to reality.

“Good mother! So, just like that, Yadibia is buried inside the Rock? This Rock?” I exclaimed in disbelief in Drionsan.

“Huh? No, no, no, boy. I’m talking about the earth,” he explained. “According to some, my city lies between Estergat and Tribella, about a thousand and five hundred meters below. That is one reason why I wish to enter this place you call ‘Conservatory’. I am sure there is a secret passage to the Underground that would shorten our journey home. And I will find it.” He gave a satisfied smile. Then a strange sound of bells was heard, and his expression changed. He took out something that looked like a pocket watch and snorted, “By the Gargoyle, four o’clock already, and I have an appointment with this gentleman in half an hour! Kid, thanks for coming and accepting my little proposition. But what the devil…!” he complained, glancing annoyedly towards the windows. “That roof you people call the sky is a real watering can!”

I smiled.

“Ragingly round,” I agreed in Drionsan. “Maybe you prefer snow. It doesn’t make any noise when it falls. Well, ayo and thanks for the story. I like it when people tell me stories. My master used to tell me many stories. But, tell me…” The hobbit was busy in the room, looking for his coat, his scarf… I interrupted myself to hand him the hat on the small table, and I resumed: “The fact that no one has seen this treasure doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist, does it?”

Yabir put on his hat and gave me an amused pout.

“Who knows. Legends often have a basis of truth.”

I bit my lip, smiling, and threw with enthusiasm:

“I love treasures. If you try to look for it, I’ll give you a hand. I can help a lot when I want to. My cousin says I’m an expert on harmonies and—”

“Thank you, boy,” Yabir interrupted me with a clearing of his throat. “But I’m not looking for the treasure.”

In spite of his amused expression, I could see a touch of nervousness in his eyes. Liar, I thought. I made a skeptical and mocking pout.

“Well, too bad. If there’s treasure, why not go get it?”

Yabir rolled his eyes and opened the door for me.

“Because until now,” he replied calmly, “everyone who’s been looking for it has died. Good afternoon, boy.”

I sighed, and after giving the hobbit a disappointed look, I stepped out into the hallway and glanced left and right to make sure the wolf wasn’t there. I did not see it. I went down the stairs. I passed the lady at the counter, and when I saw the old woman sitting in the living room, I smiled broadly and said,

“Ayo, old hag!”

I opened the door and ran out of there in a shower of water and curses.