12 The Swallow

I spent half the morning walking around Estergat with Manras, Dil, and the Priest. From time to time, I pretended to be looking for a job. I handed the form to a grinder who couldn’t read, to a lawyer who called me impertinent, to a secretary who told me he didn’t do that sort of thing, and to a nail-pincher lady who passed by without stopping.

“If you like, I’ll sign it for you,” Rogan chuckled, as we sat down on the Capitol steps to rest. “You fill out the form for me as I tell you, and I’ll hire you as an altar boy, and we’ll recite to the audience a good prayer I know. With your bardic skills and my acting skills…we’d make a fortune!”

I sighed.

“If only I could.” I paused and made a decision. “All right, that’s enough. I’m going to take things seriously. I don’t want to disappoint Kakzail.”

“Because he’s your brother?” Rogan asked.

I had told the three of them the story of the pendant, trying not to give it much importance. And Manras, disillusioned with life by his own family, had not paid any attention to it, but Dil had remained thoughtful, and that had inspired the Priest to say several sentences about providence, fate, and the family union. I replied:

“No. Because he treated me well. That’s why, that’s all. And because they might send me to the poorhouse if I don’t fill this out.”

“As if the flies would bother looking for you,” Rogan scoffed.

I shrugged and stood up.

“I’m going.”

“Where?” Dil inquired.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But my paper will be filled before this night. I bet a fivenail.”

“I’ll take the bet,” Rogan said. “Good luck! And don’t throw rocks against the windows!”

I huffed, amused, greeted them, assured Manras that this time I would not go away for a moon, and left. I went from refusal to refusal. I entered all the shops in the Grand Gallery before passing through the market stalls, whose owners refused to sign any contract. I thought of Farigo, remembered what he’d told me about the Menshaldra spinning mills, and wanted to try my luck, but when I thought that I’d have to go all the way across the city to do it, I got lazy. I prowled around reading the job advertisements, I asked a mason for a job, but they told me I was too small. Good mother… and then they said that we gwaks were lazy!

“Hooray for the worker’s world,” I muttered in disappointment.

Noon had already come and gone, and I was walking down a narrow street in the northern part of Tarmil, already thinking of resigning myself and going to see Korther or Yal—more the latter than the former, in fact—when I saw a very proper nail-pincher, with a top hat, a pipe, and shiny shoes, emerge from a porch. It was drizzling, so he hurriedly unfolded his black umbrella, and as he did so, his wallet fell to the ground. I looked at him, waiting for him to bend down and pick it up, but he didn’t even notice. Then I said to myself: Priest, this is my day of redemption. And I shouted:

“Sir, sir! You dropped something.”

I was careful not to approach him, I didn’t want him to think that I had tried to steal it. The man saw that the wallet was indeed his. He picked it up and said:

“Oh, my.”

He turned his back on me, and I smiled slightly, feeling my heart as pure as a saint’s. I had resumed my wandering when a voice called me. It was the man of the wallet. He handed me a bill.

“I’m so deep in thought, I forgot to thank you. Here.”

I walked over and looked at the piece of paper, my mouth agape. It was a one siato bill.

“For real?” I blurted out. Before he could answer, I took the bill and examined it. There was a face in profile drawn on it. “Who is it?”

“Holy Lights, it’s the great Stirxis Fiedman, the one who created our Parliament in four-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty-two,” the grizzled man replied in an indulgent tone.

“Do all the bills have pictures on them?” I asked in a casual tone.

“Of course,” the kindly gentleman replied. “The one of ten siatos represents the Great Temple and the one of five represents the Unicorn of Goodness. See?”

He showed me the two bills, and I opened my eyes wide in amazement.

“Oh! That’s a unicorn? I didn’t know they were real.”

He laughed, as if I had said something funny. I looked at him carefully. He looked friendly. I would have bet a fivenail that if I had asked him for the bill with the Great Temple he would have given it to me. But I was in my holy gwak phase, so I behaved like a gentleman and said:

“It’s not very fair that you should give me this bill, sir. I’d settle for something more reasonable.” The nobleman looked at me with a surprised look on his face, and, praying that he would not send me chasing the clouds, I added, very politely, “You see, sir. Don’t they say: give a man a partridge and he’ll eat for a day, give him a bow and he’ll eat everyday? Well, you see, I’m looking for a job, and it would help me a lot if you’d sign this paper. Just by filling this out, you’d be doing me a huge favor.”

Someone else, on hearing this, would have frowned and sent me to hell. But this wonderful nail-pincher, who exuded so much sympathy and generosity, took an interest in the reintegration form, glanced at it, pouted, and said:

“Ah. Oh. I understand. I can’t fill this out, but… I’ll give you a letter of recommendation. Maybe then you’ll be able to get a job. That’s all I can do.”

And that was more than I expected. I smiled broadly, and he showed me into his house—a nicely furnished house, with some vase which must have been worth as much as the one I had broken at the Hostel. It was quite a test of heroism for me to keep my hands together. I did not touch the watch on the shelf, nor the fine handkerchief left in a basket, nor the gold coin which shone beautifully on the desk in the sitting-room where the man sat. As he prepared his quill and inkstand, I said:

“You’ve got quite a house, sir! This thing must be worth a fortune. Good mother, what a pretty picture! I knew a painter who painted my portrait once. He painted all kind of weird things… You don’t know how grateful I am to you for writing me this letter of recommendation. You can have the best intentions in the world, but sometimes, if you don’t have a little push, even if you shout, nobody listens…”

As I chatted, I took the opportunity to warm up and rub my cold hand. The nail-pincher smiled understandingly at me. He was already dipping the quill into the inkwell when a young blond elf in a servant’s uniform appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a feather duster in hand, and when he saw me he frowned.

“Mothers of the Light!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Sardra, what exactly is this poor wretch doing here? By any chance, you’re not bequeathing the house to him, are you?” he threw out in a sardonic tone.

Mr. Sardra laughed.

“Holy Spirits, no, Rimys. I’m just writing him a letter of recommendation.”

“Oh? And what has this candid spirit done to deserve such generosity?”

Rimys looked at me, obviously anxious for me to get out of here as soon as possible. I gave him an innocent pout, but it turned into an irrepressible smile when I saw that Mr. Sardra was actually starting to write the letter. He replied:

“He saved me from losing my papers, the concert invitation, the lottery ticket, and one hundred and fifty siatos.”

At that moment my smile froze. One hundred and fifty, I repeated to myself. One hundred and fifty siatos, and poor me had just decided to play the saint. Under my breath, I murmured a:

“Blasthell.”

After asking me my name, Mr. Sardra wanted to know if I already had someone in mind to address the letter of recommendation, to which I replied, on the fly, that he address it to the Swallow Company of Messengers and that he add that I already had experience as a messenger, that I had worked for almost a year for a certain Miroki Fal.

“Miroki Fal!” Mr. Sardra exclaimed, amazed. “Is that so?”

“I swear it on my ancestors.” And so that there would be no doubt left in his mind, I added details: “I worked with Rux, his butler. Mister Fal finished his studies at the Conservatory in the spring and left for Griada with his family. So I found myself without a job. But I have experience.”

If you could call it an experience to carry flowers and romantic letters to Miroki’s beloved, I added mentally. The nail-pincher shook his head.

“And he didn’t leave you any kind of recommendation or anything?”

He seemed indignant. Like a good servant, I defended my former master:

“Oh, it’s not his fault, sir. The last few days he had other more important matters on his mind and he was very preoccupied.”

I did not mention that he had tried to commit suicide and that I had saved his life. I would have looked like a hero, but maybe the nail-pincher wouldn’t have believed me, and everything would have fallen apart.

Without further questioning, Mr. Sardra wrote quickly but elegantly, signed, sealed the letter, and handed it to me.

“I hope that’s enough.”

I smiled broadly.

“Natural. Thank you, Mr. Sardra. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

I bowed like a little gentleman, gave Rimys a mocking pout, and went out. The great Mr. Sardra had not even noticed that I had not given him back the one siato bill. But what was a siato to him, eh? I ran straight to a clothes shop on Tarmil Avenue, where I bought a plain shirt without holes. I put it on over the other one and, thus adorned, ran up the street to the central office of the Messengers. In the morning, I had seen a job advertisement, and I rejoiced when I saw that the paper was still stuck to the wall.

I passed three messengers of about fifteen years of age, who were resting at the entrance of a dead end, chewing smograss. I looked at them cheekily. They were wearing uniforms and caps with a number on each side and the letters of ‘THE SWALLOW’ written large. I smiled to myself. When Manras saw me dressed like that, he was going to be blown away. I walked into the office and saw an employee sitting behind a desk covered with papers. As he didn’t notice me, I said loudly:

“Hello! I’m here because of the ad. I’m looking for a job. And I have a letter of recommendation from Mr. Sardra.”

I didn’t know whether my benefactor was known, but I took on the tone of one who says: Have you seen the important friends I have? Nevertheless, the clerk gave me a sceptical expression, which he only removed when he compared the name on the letter with the name on my prison release booklet. After a moment’s hesitation, he sent me to the office manager, who scrutinized me, sat me down, and asked me why I thought I was going to be a good messenger and all that sort of thing. I answered as well as I could. He checked that I could really read, he made me do some arithmetic exercises, he probed me about my knowledge of the streets, and he was pleasantly surprised at my great knowledge of the subject. Finally, he asked me:

“So you’re willing to work hard?”

“Yes, sir!”

Seeing me so motivated, the manager could not help but smile. He explained to me in more detail what a messenger’s duties were, and warned me of all the things a messenger should not do, and I listened attentively, realizing that all this was not going to be as simple as taking flowers to Lesabeth.

Finally, the director hired me, he nimbly got up from his chair, opened the door, and called:

“Yum!”

He waited a few seconds and pouted.

“Kid. You see that door over there? That’s the messenger room. There you can rest during downtime… Ah,” he then said with satisfaction. The said door had just opened, and a dark elf with silver hair and prominent green eyes appeared. It was one of the three messengers I had seen when I entered.

“You called me, boss?”

“Yes. This is Draen, he’s new, and I’d like you to brief him for a few hours. He will start the service tomorrow.”

Yum nodded, glanced at me, and smiled.

“Sure. I’ll take him right away.”

“Good,” the director approved. “First, take him to Dermen, so he can choose a uniform that fits.” He patted my shoulder. “I hope you don’t disappoint us, Draen Hilemplert.”

A little intimidated, I nodded, and Yum guided me without a word to this fellow called Dermen, who had me try on a uniform, assigned me a cap with the number forty-two, and was in the process of explaining that I should take care of the uniform when the clerk called out:

“Boys! An urgent magigram just came in!”

Yum, who was yawning as he heard Dermen’s instructions, gasped and threw out:

“Follow me, kiddo.”

I still had the cap on my head, and I would have liked to leave with it, but Dermen took it off me.

“You’re not on duty yet,” he reminded me.

I rolled my eyes and followed Yum with great curiosity. I saw him accept a note and a few more messages from the clerk, and I followed him outside. I knew that magigrams were almost instant messages sent through powerful magaras from places as far away as Kitra or Veliria. Miroki Fal had sent me more than once to deliver such messages to the Swallow last year. But I had never gone the other way.

Yum did not let me ask where we were going: the young dark elf ran off down the street, and I followed him without saying a word. Incredibly, after fifteen minutes, I was panting and had to try hard not to lose sight of Yum. He went to the Stock Exchange to deliver the magigram, and as I entered the building, the memory of the Wada made me unconsciously look up at the place where the jewelled figure once stood. I let out a startled gasp when I saw it hanging there in all its splendour. What was the Wada doing there?

A fat financier heading for the exit pushed me “unintentionally” with that nail-pincher habit of not seeing others, and I almost fell. Yum took me by the arm.

“Are you in the clouds, newbie?” he threw at me. Apparently, the messenger had already handed over the magigram. “This is your first time in the Stock Exchange, right?” he inquired. “Hey! Answer.”

I shook my head.

“No. I mean… Yes. It looks like it,” I muttered, looking up at the Wada again with troubled eyes.

It was as if I had dreamed that winter night when I had entered through the dome, tied to a rope. Then I realized that I was not giving Yum a very positive impression of myself, and I said:

“Sorry. It’s the emotion. Of getting this job. Are there many messages left?”

“Five. I thought I’d deliver them in two hours, but at this rate, we’re going to need all afternoon. How come they took you if you can’t even run?” he asked.

I shrugged without taking offense.

“I could. The thing is… I’ve been sick. Don’t worry, you go ahead and run, I’ll follow you.”

Yum gave me a skeptical look.

“Sick, huh?”

With surprising speed he reached into my pocket and withdrew the form which the boss had filled out for me. I restrained myself from holding on to it so as not to tear it up and protested:

“Give me that back!”

He held up the paper and read in a herald’s voice as if he wanted all the nail-pinchers present to hear:

“Reintegration record of eleven-year-old Draen Hilemplert, who served his sentence on the first Thunderday of Squalls after being sentenced to fifty days for assault with violen…”

Gradually, he lowered his voice, more and more amazed, and finally, he fell silent, perhaps surprised that I did not protest more. I looked into his eyes, silent. He made an embarrassed pout and handed me back the sheet of paper. I folded it impassively and said dryly:

“Thank you.”

Yum cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry. I… I couldn’t imagine that. Really, it just bothered me that you kept lying to me, that’s all. We’d better go deliver those messages… Say, what exactly does ‘assault with violence’ mean?”

For a moment, I was tempted to tell him that I had robbed a bank with a dagger in my hand. But I thought better of it, and as we left the Stock Exchange, I told him of the incident with the coachman. Yum was clearly relieved to know that his new companion was not a dangerous criminal but merely an impulsive boy. After that, I spent a pleasant afternoon. Yum taught me the tricks of the messenger, I listened attentively to him, helped him calculate the prices for each message he accepted on the way, and as it was already getting dark we stopped in front of the office, and he said:

“Well, you already know the basics. You just have to learn how to deal with customers. And not to get too stressed out when they push you around!” he observed wisely. “Well, I’ll keep working. If I were you, I’d go home. You look tired. Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the company. You’ll see, they are all nice guys. Some are more serious than others. I’m one of those who pretend to be serious. That’s why the boss calls me whenever there’s something to do. I even walk his dogs in the morning. As if, in addition to being a messenger, I’m the house handyman,” he said with a smile. “By the way, aren’t you interested in walking the boss’s dogs on Sacreddays? You know, I take my little sisters to the temple on those days. He pays six nails for a one-hour walk.”

I swallowed and shook my head.

“No, no. I don’t really like dogs.”

“Is that so?” Yum looked surprised. “Well. I’ll find someone else then. Good evening!”

“Good evening and thank you!” I said.

In the end, I had the impression that I was going to like this job. At least for a while.

As it was only an hour to seven and I had promised Kakzail that I would be back at The Ballerinas by seven o’clock, I just left the form at the central station and dragged my feet to the tavern. I didn’t see Kakzail or any of his companions, and so that the tavern-keeper wouldn’t kick me out, I ordered a meal and paid with the money I had left over from my one siato bill. I was just finishing my dinner when suddenly someone sat down in front of me, and I looked up, startled.

“Yal!”

My master immediately said to me in a low voice:

“What the hell are you doing, Mor-eldal? Korther has been waiting for you at the Hostel all morning. This morning he wanted to pull you by the ears, but I think now he’s at the stage of wanting to wring your neck. He told me that story about the purple orb. I’ve rarely seen him so agitated.”

He paused, looked at me with a questioning face, and I replied hastily:

“I was planning to go, really, but between one thing and another… It’s that I got a job.”

Yalet shook his head in surprise.

“A job? In one day?”

“Yeah, messenger of the Swallow,” I announced.

Yal smiled as I straightened up proudly.

“Congrats. Anyway, I’m afraid Korther will not give a damn about that,” he warned me. “He’s convinced those two foreigners are in Estergat. He’s been looking for them for a week. And he wants you to translate.”

I sighed and nodded, pushing the empty plate away.

“It’s okay, it runs, I’m going. But I promised Kakzail I’d be here at seven o’clock sharp…”

“I’ll tell him you stopped by,” Yal assured. “He left you my address, didn’t he? And… did you speak with him?”

I could tell by his expression that he already knew about the family and the pendant. I shrugged.

“Yes.”

Yal looked at me and gave a smiling pout.

“Well. Do you know that now I am working as a secretary at the Capitol? Not an exciting job, but I have a good salary, and I could even afford a closer place to live; but to tell the truth, for the time being, the boarding-house where I stay at suits me just fine. If you like, you can come and sleep there. The landlady is not as much of a nuisance as the one at the Darguet House. As long as there is no racket, she lets whole families into her convent.”

I opened my eyes wide, not quite sure I understood.

“You mean… I can take my cronies there?”

Yal pouted.

“Well. I saw them once. They seem like nice kids. As long as they don’t make a racket…”

“They’ll be silent as rocks!” I assured, moved. “Wow, that’s so nice, Yal!”

My master laughed.

“Yes, well. I’ve come to understand that, without them, you wouldn’t even stay in a prince’s house.”

I bit my lip, smiling.

“You’re dead round. And… what about Rogan? Can he come too? Just him. Just him and my cronies. He’s not just a nice person: he’s a saint. Look, he gave me this,” I said, showing him the shell necklace. “Pretty, isn’t it? And, well, he doesn’t make a fuss, he’s very quiet.”

Yal moistened his lips.

“It’s okay,” he finally relented. “But not one more. The room’s pretty small. And, if you wake me in the middle of the night, I’ll throw you all out. Now, go to Korther, or he’ll wring your neck for good.”

I nodded and rose to my feet, still excited at the thought of taking my little gang to my master. I hesitated, then declared firmly:

“I love you, Elassar. Ayo!”

I saw him smile, amused, before I turned my back on him and strode out of the tavern, heading for the Hostel. In truth, I approached the Black Dagger’s guild with apprehension, but also with curiosity. I was anxious to know if Shokinori and Yabir were really in Estergat. Besides, I remembered Alvon had given me a message for the kap. And, as the new Messenger of Estergat, I couldn’t possibly forget to deliver it.