75. Don’t let him get lost

The next day, I awoke in Swift’s shelter, shivering with cold. I had become so accustomed to the warm blankets enchanted by my master, and to the heavy blankets of the barber’s house, that I now shivered like a leaf. Only the rodaria root that Lin the Daredevil passed me managed to dull the cold. Dakis would have grumbled if he had seen me, but the rodaria was a blessing.

Since Rogan had not yet told Swift, I took it upon myself to tell all the companions about the Black Hawk, warned them, and Swift agreed that all sokwatas should avoid the Labyrinth. When Manras and Dil still did not appear, the kap gave instructions that, if anyone saw them, he should tell them to go to the Esplanade. I would have liked to go and look for them, but I had to give up risky expeditions because of Little Wolf: the little one refused to let me go alone, and although mute, he put on such a distressed face every time I walked away that I finally decided to take him with me; but, of course, with him, I couldn’t enter the Labyrinth and hope to leg it fast enough.

So I set about answering other problems: I went to mump at the Great Temple, with Rogan and Swift, collected a few nails, and killed the hunger. I was sitting with some companions in the noisy market place of Riskel, playing morra and glancing around regularly, when suddenly I saw a familiar face.

“Thunders,” I said. And I cried out, “Hey, Davik!”

I caught the elf gwak from the day before just pinching an onion at a stall. Other companions of mine noticed, and we laughed at Davik’s startled face. I beckoned him over, and he came forward. He was alone.

“Have you gone from clocks to onions, comrade?” I teased him. “They didn’t keep you in the slammer long. Come on, sit down! Here, a little bread, to accompany the burning bulb, it goes down better. Y’know, Adoya’s dogs attacked this good gwak the other day,” I explained to the others. “But that lucky devil got away with it alive and kicking, eh?”

Davik, though slightly suspicious at first, soon relaxed in our company. I offered him some rodaria and smograss, and he confessed that he had never stolen a watch, that he was a lousy thief, and that he earned his living by shining shoes and selling shells. He came from the country, where an old woman had taken care of him until he was eight. After telling this much, he soon became a new gwak in the band. One did not need much to be a Wise One: being sympathetic and honest was enough. And, no matter what people said, there were many such people among the gwaks.

Around five o’clock we moved to the Esplanade, I made several rounds with Little Wolf to ask the newsboys and gwaks if they had seen a dark elf and a devil-eyed human kid. It was in vain: they all shook their heads. More than one gwak told me the same story as Davik, that they had been attacked by Adoya’s dogs and that he had asked them the same questions. None of them mentioned that Adoya was also looking for me, and I wondered if any of them had made the connection.

Finally, when it was almost six o’clock, I returned to my companions at the foot of the promontory that led to the Capitol. Possu and Little Mouse were following me. I don’t know why the little ones always followed me, especially when I took Little Wolf with me.

I sighed, declaring to my comrades:

“Nothing. Something must have happened to them. It’s just weird. I’ve asked at least a thousand people.”

“No way,” Swift articulated.

“Well, at least forty,” I corrected.

“No, no,” Swift snorted, rising to his feet. And, with an amused expression, he indicated something with his chin. “There they are.”

Jumping up, I turned, surveyed the passers-by in the square, and… let out a loud:

“Those damn gwaks!”

I dashed towards Manras and Dil. They had not heard me, they were too far away, and they were running away across the square. I caught up with them, went around them, and blocked their way, shouting cheerfully:

“Blasthell, blasthell, shyurs! Where the hell have you been?”

They were startled by my sudden appearance, and I had to push them to keep them from running into me. When they stopped, they looked back nervously, and Manras said:

“I thought you were at the barber shop! We went back there, and the barber told us: go to hell.” Agitated, he grabbed my sleeve and pointed in a direction. “Do you see him?”

I blinked, bewildered.

“What?”

Manras stared at the crowd. Dil explained:

“Adoya. He saw us. The thing is… last night, since your cousin wasn’t there and you told us not to go to the Bivouac, we went to…”

“To the bird house!” Manras interrupted in a hasty tone. “And, when we got out of the forest, a guard sent us back to the charity house. We legged it. And Adoya…” He fell silent, inhaling deeply. “He’s coming!”

He signalled without any discretion, and then Adoya saw us. He was a tall man with a dry face and brown hair. I had only seen him once in daylight, but I recognized him at once by the dog on his leash. Besides, having lived with the Ojisaries for so long, Manras and Dil couldn’t possibly be wrong.

After watching us for a few seconds, he came closer. I tensed up like the string of a bow. My first instinct was to leg it, but, blasthell, where to, anyway? I was in the largest square in Estergat, surrounded by people and flies. Adoya could do nothing to us. And I did my best not to show my fear to my cronies.

So I made us move calmly towards the place where our companions were, without losing sight of Adoya. He was following us. Good. I stood between Manras and Dil and watched that criminal approach with a defiant expression. The dog was sticking out its tongue. Adoya stopped, glanced indifferently at the gwaks sitting there, and then looked again, not at Manras, but at me. His pale eyes sparkled.

“Yes…” he mused. “It’s you.”

And after a silence, he added:

“Come at midnight, alone, to the dead end of the Ojisaries. If you don’t come, your family will suffer. Not this one,” he said, gesturing dismissively to my companions, “the… Malaxalra,” he muttered.

I opened my eyes wide, frozen. How the hell did he know I…? Adoya bowed slightly and added in a low snake-like voice:

“Your hands are dirty, gwak. You must pay for what you have done. Think of it. Your life is not worth the lives of a barber and his honest family.”

He straightened up, and with a sardonic expression, observed:

“If you behave yourself, maybe the Black Hawk won’t kill you. If you misbehave and don’t show up before dawn…” He blew between his lips, “Pow. Goodbye family.”

More than cruelty, his expression reflected fatalism and profound disinterest. He made sure that his words had had some effect, and then he pulled on the dog’s leash and walked away into the square. He left me speechless, stunned, horrified… I could not conceive such an absurd threat. What did the barber and his family have to do with the Black Hawk? Nothing! Absolutely nothing.

After a silence during which I did not move a muscle, Manras and Dil slipped in front of me with worried expressions.

“Are you alright, Sharpy?” the little dark elf asked.

I breathed in, and then abruptly let go:

“Why didn’t he say anything to you? Why? I thought he was looking for you, too.”

My voice sounded harsh, almost accusatory. I caught Manras’ shocked face. At that moment, the bells struck six, and I frowned. I had to go somewhere at six o’clock, didn’t I? Ah, yes. To Yal’s. I snorted and gave the dark elf a slight shake.

“Bah. Ayo. I’ll fix this, for sure. Don’t worry. See you at the Bivouac.”

And I left the companions behind. We were just at the foot of the Capitol promontory, and Yal’s house was near. I reached it quickly. I was about to knock on the door when suddenly I heard behind me a:

“Draen!”

Yalet approached dressed as a very proper young civil servant. He was accompanied by two friends, both good-looking but perhaps not as nail-pinched as him.

“You are punctual,” he observed, satisfied. “I see you haven’t lost the good habits. We must meet Nael in front of the Gallery. Tonight there’ll be shows there.” He hesitated. “You still want to come, don’t you?”

Stolen story; please report.

After glancing at the two friends again, I pulled Yal by the sleeve.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

I did not wait for him to answer; I pulled him away with force. With an expression of both concern and exasperation, Yal took a few steps away with me and asked:

“What happens now?”

I explained:

“I saw Adoya.”

Yal blinked.

“Adoya?”

“The one with the dogs!” I exclaimed. “He works for the Black Hawk. And he s-said t-that…”

Yal put a soothing hand on my shoulder as I went blank. He glanced nervously at his two companions who were waiting impatiently. He said in a low voice:

“Don’t worry. I talked to Korther last night. The Black Hawk is not a danger. Apparently he’s been poisoned. And he’s gone mad. No one listens to him anymore. He’s ruined.”

I shook my head. The Black Hawk was ruined, it runs, so what? Adoya was still working for him. Realizing that he hadn’t succeeded in calming me down, Yal added:

“Don’t enter the Labyrinth, and everything will be fine. Believe me, sari. Without his mine, that madman is a nobody. He’s finished.”

I wanted to protest, but then Yal’s expression reflected so well the annoyance of my stubbornness with the Black Hawk that I knew I had spoiled his party, and a sudden shame came over me. I stammered and repeated:

“He’s finished.”

“Finished,” my master confirmed with a small, soothing smile.

“Yal!” suddenly called the voice of one of his friends. “My fiancée is going to wring me out if we’re late. Come on, let’s get going and you keep talking to the kid on the way, okay?”

Yal nodded and turned to me.

“So, are you coming or not? There’s going to be dancers, singers… And, of course, I’ll treat you to a full dinner.”

I bowed my head, truly tormented.

“Sorry, Elassar. Today I can’t.”

My master was just opening his mouth to protest when the other friend called to him. He sighed and, before walking away, said to me:

“Take care of yourself, sari. If you’re looking for me, you know where I am.”

I nodded silently and saw him disappear into the crowd with his two friends. I let out a sigh. Blasthell. And what was I supposed to do now?

I was thinking chaotically, without coming up with any concrete plan, when I suddenly saw movement in the square. Passers-by were turning towards two flies that were heading… towards me? At least, that was my impression. Thinking that one of them had recognized me as the kid who had fooled them at the police station, I dashed towards the stalls in the square. There weren’t many of them, most of them were in Riskel and not on the Esplanade, but that allowed me to confirm my fears without being caught: the flies were after me.

But what the blasthell? Since when did the flies care about looking for a simple gwak who escaped from a cell?

The flies began to shout at me to stop, and I, foreseeing that they would give me a beating of a thousand demons, did not listen to them. I reached the Fountain of the Manticore when suddenly a third fly appeared out of nowhere and whacked me in the back with a club. I collapsed, hit the edge of the fountain, and my world turned into a bottomless pit.

* * *

When I regained consciousness, I was being carried like a sack of carrots on the street, on the back of a fly. I felt as if my head was a melon filled with boiling water.

I didn’t immediately understand what was going on. I knew that the flies had caught me. I knew that I had a terrible fear of flies. And I knew that my head was hurt. Only these three things came to mind as the police officer carried me down the street—or was it up the street?—accompanied by a young valley girl who smelled of flowers. It took me a long time to realize that she was my sister. And we entered the barber’s shop before I even noticed where we were going.

I must have looked terrible, because, in spite of their evident anger, neither the barber nor the lady dared to punish me for running away during the night. She put me on a mat in the dining room and cleaned my blood mechanically. She did not seem to care much whether she hurt me or not. Finally, she mumbled something to me. I didn’t understand her. And, not understanding her, I became seriously concerned. Had my head gone stupid? The thought filled my eyes with tears of horror. My mother shook my shoulder. Then a voice said:

“He doesn’t understand the language of the valley, honey. You won’t get anywhere that way.”

The barber came into the room. I was so relieved to realize that my head was not so bad after all, that I gasped and stood up, muttering:

“Why, sir?”

This question meant everything at once: why did you send the flies after me, why don’t you leave me alone, why…? Why are you looking at me with those dark faces?

Indeed, the expressions of both of them made me fear the worst. Skelrog, the schoolmaster, was also there, just as somber, just as tense. Gradually my mind cleared, and I saw without doubt that something strange was going on here. Something very strange.

Without answering my question, the barber replied:

“Does your head hurt?”

I swallowed, and under his eagle-eyed gaze, I lied:

“No, sir.”

It hurt, but I had withstood worse pain because of the sokwata before. I could stand it. The barber frowned, scrutinizing me, and then he ordered me:

“Sit down.”

He pointed to the table. I sat down with stiff movements, and Skelrog, the barber, and the lady did the same. I watched them, petrified. Their expressions gave me the creeps. I tried not to let it show, and almost shouted at them, “Don’t take me to the centre, please, let me go!” And another little voice said to me, “Let me go to the Black Hawk and you will never hear from me again…”

Then my mother, with unusual rudeness, asked:

“Well? Where did you take him?”

The question left me confused. Where had I taken what? I hardly had time to ponder the meaning of this strange question, for almost immediately the front door was heard to open followed by quick footsteps to the dining room. Skrindwar, the glassmaker, appeared. He looked around the room and asked urgently.

“Is there any news? Did he tell you where he is?”

Skelrog shook his head.

“He hasn’t told us anything yet.”

Four pairs of eyes converged on me. I felt increasingly alarmed.

“I don’t understand,” I confessed, and suddenly thinking I understood, I hastened to say, “Hey, I didn’t steal anything. I swear it. When I left, I broke the bar, but it was already almost broken. And I swear I didn’t tell the flies that you were my parents…”

“Quiet!” my mother thundered abruptly, rising to her feet. I straightened up in my chair, ready to bound away like a squirrel. The barber lady’s face was tight and angry. “Never mind your devilry: right now it’s my son who’s in danger. My son!”

I blinked as she wept and fell back into the chair, comforted by Skrindwar. I was totally lost. Her son, she had said. What son? Kakzail? Samfen? Skelrog was perhaps the only one who guessed that my silence was due to incomprehension, not reserve. The schoolmaster finally explained in a somber tone.

“You see, Ashig. Sarova disappeared last night. His classmates said that lately he’s been having relationships with street kids. It’s been almost twenty hours since he’s been reported missing, and the police still have no leads.”

I frowned, thought about it, and… widened my eyes.

“You think I took him with me?”

There was a heavy silence. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed. Sarova! The one who looked at me with a superior air and spied on my every move as if he were looking for a reason to report it to the barber. Him? He had gone with some gwaks?

“You’ve gotta be kidding!” I protested. “I didn’t do anything. I barely spoke to him…”

“Where have you been for the last twenty hours?” the barber cut me off harshly. “I want to know exactly what you’ve been doing. No lies.”

I let the air out of my lungs. Oh, dear. This was like an interrogation of flies. I swallowed. Now what could I say? I tried to look humble and nodded slowly.

“It runs. I legged it from the shop. I met some… newsboys, friends of mine. I played dice with them for a while. And… then I came back to my gang’s shelter,” I told, omitting my visit to the jail and at Korther’s. “And I crashed. In the morning, I begged in the temple with my comrades. And in the afternoon…” I shrugged. “Been doing stuff. I helped unload things from a cart. And I worked for my bread,” I declared with dignity. I reached into my pockets to pull out the nails I’d earned… I pouted. “I’ll be damned, they filched them from me! The flies did it, for sure…”

I fell silent. The barber had just put half nails on the table. Blasthell, so he had picked my pocket, and I had not even noticed… He took out another item and put it on the middle of table. His face was impassive.

“Can you tell me what it is?”

I arched my eyebrows and nodded.

“This is rodaria root. It’s good for the cold.”

And for the pain and hunger, I added mentally. Good mother, how my head hurt… The barber banged his fist on the table, startling us all.

“Rodaria is a drug, you moron. You start with rodaria and end up taking karuja. I can’t understand how you can be so stupid,” he hissed.

I gave him a cold look. Stupid, your mother, I grumbled mentally. And I said:

“I haven’t eaten karuja in ages.”

My reply seemed to shock them. After a silence, my mother said in a curiously soft voice:

“Say, Ashig, if you know where Sarova is, tell us for the love of your ancestors.”

I shook my head meditatively.

“I don’t know where he is.” And, as she darkened, I added, “But I can find out. If Sarova has gone to the Cats, it will be as easy as saying ayo. I have comrades everywhere. And not just gwaks. For sure, I can find him. It’s not like the wolves ate him up or anything.”

The barber had a frown on his face. Skelrog was shaking his head. Skrindwar stated emphatically:

“The police are not doing anything. I’m with Ashig.”

“Me too,” a voice suddenly intervened. Samfen stepped out of the hallway and into the dining room. He had a decided expression. “The flies have their arms crossed: let’s go and look for him ourselves.”

“Sam!” the lady protested.

“Ashig can find him, mother,” Samfen asserted, and he looked at me fervently. “Right?”

My brother’s eyes shone with such confidence and hope that I did not hesitate for a second and said:

“Very round. I’ll go ask around,” I announced, getting up.

“Wait a minute,” the barber thundered. “You’re not going to go by yourself.”

I arched an eyebrow and… snorted.

“Ah, no, no. You can’t come with me, sir. The gwaks would be nervous. They’d think you were a fly. And I, a snitch. That doesn’t run—”

“Skrindwar will accompany you,” the barber replied.

The young glassmaker jerked up.

“Me? W-Well,” he stammered, agreeing. “Okay.”

“What about me?” Samfen asked eagerly. “I want to go, father. Please. I can pretend to be a gwak—”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” the barber cut him off. However, after a brief pause, he relented, “You go too. I’m letting you go because I know you’re level-headed. Don’t go into dangerous places. Skrindwar, I trust you not to put yourselves in danger.”

I was already waiting at the door of the dining room. Samfen soon joined me. Skrindwar hesitated.

“Wouldn’t it be a good idea to maybe take a knife with us, just in case?” he suggested.

I smiled up to my ears.

“A ragingly good one,” I assured him. “You got any knives around here?”

The barber gave me a dark look, and after some rummaging, he pulled out a clasp knife and handed it to Skrindwar. The mother hugged the glassmaker and the architect, and I was secretly beginning to feel a touch of envy when the lady laid a gentle hand on my cheek and looked at me intently.

“Find him, my son. Don’t let him get lost.”

In my mind, I added: don’t let him get lost like you. I looked away and nodded gravely.

“Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry.”

And to my amazement, she kissed me on the forehead. I couldn’t avoid showing her an uncomfortable expression, but deep down I was moved. If, before, I had had the motivation to pick up a little brother who had no idea what it meant to be a gwak, now I also had the motivation to ease the worries of a mother who was ready to give me her affection. All I had to do was give her a son back.

“Don’t do anything rash and be back before midnight, without fail,” the barber warned us.

“Without fail!” I replied cheerfully.

And so we, three brothers, left the barber shop, the youngest leading the other two into the mysterious depths of the slums.