The power of a hug. Lies of omission. A formal introduction. The Gimm and the Gorbin. Goodbyes. Late night reading.
Fabrizio fell against Sal, then grabbed him, and hugged him. “Oh boy, that was intense. Thanks, Sal. Thanks for believing in me.”
The former Dark Lord stiffened at first, but then relaxed into the embrace. He threw his arms around his friend and hugged him back. He was surprised to find the human touch so comforting. When was the last time he’d been hugged? It saddened him to realize it had been a very long, long time. Maybe it was his father who had hugged? Maybe it was Clarice? No, Clarice had been dead for a very long time.
With a shock, Sal realized it had been his father, Mickey the Cook, who had last held him. The former Dark Lord was surprised to find himself on the edge of weeping. It needn’t be said, but Dark Lords are so rarely embraced with legitimate affection. And outright crying was unheard of.
He didn’t break the embrace, which was equally surprising, but it was the Ponti who eventually stepped away.
Both stood near to each other as they stood pondering the water dripping down the wall. The room wasn’t as cold anymore.
Sal missed the touch of his friend, and so he took Fabrizio’s hand for a moment, before remembering himself before dropping it and stepping away. “The chained chest remains a mystery for the time being. As for our friend the banshee…”
His voice died in his throat as more words appeared on the wall. My name is Shivaun. And tell him about the book. I think it is of some importance.
“What book?” Fabrizio asked.
Betty giggled softly in his pocket.
Sal squeezed his eyes closed. This banshee knew all of his business. “Let us retreat downstairs, and I will show you. I would beg you to remember that on the path of righteousness, even the best of men are wont to stray.”
Fabrizio laughed. “Our banshee friend talks like you! I mean, not talk, but you get the picture. This has all been so unexpected. I thought the ghost would be totally evil and stuff. Oh boy, but she was surprising. This night just keeps getting better and better. She’s not gone, is she?”
“No, she is not gone. Verily, it seems I have an undead partner in this business.”
He helped Fabrizio pack up his things in silence. Sal felt the fear in his belly as they made their way down to the ground floor. The book was on the windowsill, where he’d left it.
He lifted The Chronicles of GuNakt and gave it to the Ponti. “I have to confess at least one of my many sins. The other day, when we first met, I strayed down into the crypts. I found a hidden library near the Trionic statues at the far end of the tomb. I borrowed a book, intent upon returning it. I should’ve told you, but my fear kept my tongue still.”
Every word was the truth, and he was rewarded for it.
<<<>>>
Confession is good for the soul! Karmic Gauge increased by 5%.
Current Karmic Gauge: 21% (We have achieved orange!)
<<<>>>
Sal liked the shade of the orange color, and he was so glad to be out of the red. At the same time, he wondered if he could game the system. Could he relapse, do something bad, to make it worth losing Karma points? He could then do good to increase it. But to what end? If he wanted to increase his power, he couldn’t go back into the red, that was fairly clear.
No, taking the book and not telling Fabrizio had been a devastating mistake. He couldn’t do that again.
Fabrizio opened the tome. “This is in Gorbinish. A secret library in the crypt? Oh boy, but I hated going down into the crypt. Maybe I won’t be so afraid anymore because not all ghosts are completely evil. That’s a surprise.” He frowned. “I don’t know any Gorbinish. Not many people do. Every so often, you see one in town, but they mostly keep to themselves. They live in the caves in the mountains, down deep, below the Gimm cities.”
“Gimm cities?” Sal asked. The Gimm were the Stoneskins, from up north, a savage people who used their tall ships to pillage towns. There hadn’t been any Gimm on Torment Island for as long as Sal could remember, and that was a long, long time.
“Yeah, the Gimm started out coming to Tower City as Climbers, but some of the Stoneskins kinda liked our island, and so they settled into the mountains. Then when they got tired of being out in the wild, they move into town, in the northern part. People like to move to new places. But Sal, why didn’t you tell me? This isn’t stealing, exactly, but it is lying. A lie of omission.”
The Dark Lord nodded. “What can I tell you? I justified taking the book in all kinds of ways. Yet, if you and I are to be friends, we must be honest. I will be as truthful as I can be from here on out. I swear to you.”
Increasing his Karmic Gauge depended on it.
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Fabrizio searched his face for lies, and Sal had to glance away. He felt very exposed. And shameful. It had been a mistake, one that his new banshee friend, Shivaun, wanted him to correct.
The Ponti’s voice was gentle. “What kind of Pontifex would I be if I couldn’t find a little forgiveness in my heart. I want us to be friends, Sal. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
That made Sal laugh. “Let me show you another of my secrets.” He reached into his pocket, more afraid than ever, and gently removed his little mouse friend.
Would Betty speak?
He hoped she wouldn’t. That would open a can of worms that Sal didn’t want to fish with any time soon. He knew, though, he’d have to tell Fabrizio his entire story at some point.
The little gray mouse lifted a pink paw and waved.
Fabrizio’s smile was innocent and delighted. “She’s a smart little thing. Is she your familiar?”
“Just a friend,” Sal said.
Fabrizio shook the little pink paw with a finger. “I’m Ponti Fabrizio Pasha.”
When the mouse didn’t answer, Sal took up the task. “She’s Betty Don’t-Bite. Until I met you, she was my only friend. In some ways, me coming to this cursed café was her idea.”
“This is all right out of a storybook!” the Ponti said enthusiastically. “A mouse in your pocket? A secret Gorbin library underneath my chapel. How could this be?”
Sal replied truthfully. “I have no idea.”
Fabrizio put the book on the table and opened it near the end, where there were some graphs and symbols that Sal hadn’t seen before. They reminded him of his vision, something he would have to take a bit more seriously. Shaking hands with Shivaun had awakened something inside him, and he still felt the power, thrumming through him. Or it might be the adrenaline. Either way, things had changed.
“What’s the book about?” the Ponti asked.
“It is the journal of a Gorbin foot soldier, one of the Dark Lord Salvanguish’s minions. He did not think too much of the Deux Coin Dark Lord, and much of it concerns Salvanguish’s missteps, his moodiness, his arrogance. He hated the Dark Lord. Everyone did. They laughed at him behind his back, and they thought he was foolish, arrogant, and blind.” Sal felt emotion choke him. He had to clear his throat to continue. “That’s the first part. The second part concerns a magic system, but I do not know what the charts and graphs reference. I will have to read more.”
Fabrizio seemed captivated by the book. Yet, his next question was aimed at Sal. “How can you read Gorbinish? No one can read Gorbinish. For a long time, it was illegal. I always thought that was taking things a bit too far. How can you outlaw an entire language?”
“Those must’ve been dark times,” Sal said. And meant it.
“Yeah, I get that.” The Ponti paused. “It was the church that did it. You know, I bet you that some Pontifex thought that was some grade-A malarkey, and stashed the books in the crypt. You know, there might have been treasure down there at some point, but it got moved or stolen or whatever, and the Pontifex, a righteous man of Yeshu, swore to keep the books safe.”
There was that word again. Righteous. Now that was a word full of connotations, some welcome, some not. How many righteous people had committed atrocities because of their own self-important righteousness?
Betty patted Sal’s finger. She pointed at him.
He knew what that meant. She wanted him to answer Fabrizio’s original question, but how could he?
He surprised himself by finding an honest answer. “Growing up, I loved books, and language, and history. This should not be shocking, given my fondness for sentences overflowing with metaphor and elevated diction. I wanted to know all the languages, to read every tome ever written, so hence, I learned Gorbinish.”
“Where did you grow up?” Fabrizio asked.
“On an island now lost, drank up by the oceans of time, never to return,” Sal said. “I came here as refugee, and found an unexpected home in this haunted place, now a bit less haunted thanks to you.”
The Ponti chuckled quietly, blushing a bit. “Oh. Boy. What did I do? I lit some candles and threatened Shivaun with some water. I did have the book.”
“And your faith in Yeshu, my friend. When Shivaun screamed, and there was that freezing wind, your candles flickered but they were not extinguished. It could be, that threat of extinction was what brought about the banshee’s change.”
“And you shook hands with her. Oh boy, that took some gumption. Did you notice she kinda got less ghostly after your handshake?”
“I did. And I felt something, deep down, as well. Some kind of power exchange.”
The Ponti laughed nervously. “Don’t you go getting evil on me, Sal.”
“Never, Ponti Pasha.” In his mind, Sal added, never again, but he kept those words quiet.
Fabrizio closed the book. “Keep this for now. I’ll go and check out the secret library, and see if I can find a dictionary. I’d love to learn Gorbin. I’ve read all the books I have, and I’m kinda tired of re-reading. Not that re-reading isn’t fun, but there’s nothing like a new book. And now I have a whole new language!”
“Is Gorbinish still not illegal?”
The Ponti shrugged. “Not really. I don’t think anyone much cares anymore. We have, like, whole new worlds of trouble to deal with, what with tensions between the Yanir and the Scallia Capra brewing. And the Isham are traveling more. You’ll see whole groups of the southerners around. But that’s a whole thing, and I’ve had a long, long day. I gotta go.”
Sal put out a hand. “Thank you, again, Fabrizio.”
The Ponti shook his hand, gave Betty a little salute, and moved toward the door. “I’m just glad I could help. Stil not sure how much I did help, but hey, it was kind of fun in a terrifying kind of way. Will I see you at dinner tomorrow night?”
“You will,” Sal said. “Every night, at least until I can get the café operational. I will remember my oath.”
“Yeah, you will,” the Ponti chuckled. “If I’m not around, you’ll have a banshee to light a fire under you.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“Are you safe to walk home alone?” Sal asked.
That made Fabrizio laugh. “Certainly! I have Yeshu of the Book with me! What’s some banditry compared to the power of a god?”
Sal had direct experience with that particular truth. He’d bartered away a short sword for his life.
It was only a few moments until he was alone in the café with Betty. He sat at a table with the mouse in his hand.
“Why did you keep your tongue still?” Sal asked his friend.
Betty jerked her thumb back behind her. “Listen, champ, if I would’ve dazzled that guy with my wit and wordplay, he would’ve had ten zillion questions. You and I aren’t ready for that action, and we need him for all kinds of reasons. For one, that rye bread is die for. Another? The butter. Have we talked about the butter? Dee-lish!”
Sal smiled.
His little café was quiet, no chains, no screaming, no spears appearing in unexpected places. Shivaun seemed satisfied, at least for now.
Sal did wonder about the ghost who had rolled the peach to him. They might’ve soothed one of the specters in his little establishment, but he had the idea there were more. And he wasn’t going to forget about the chained chest any time soon.
He opened GuNakt’s journal again, skipping sections that reminded Sal of the kind of man he’d been before. It wasn’t easy to read any of that. But he wanted to get to the charts and graphs. He thought they might be the key to unlocking his Diagraff.