Caldisona

Home. , Book 2: The Messenger of Estergat

14 Caldisona

“The Swallow!” I bellowed. I handed the urgent magigram to the businessman, along with the receipt to sign, and added in a professional tone, “For any reply, at your service.”

Ignoring me, the investor read the note and laughed, commenting I don’t know what about prices falling like the White Waterfall. He suddenly took me by the arm.

I nodded and waited. I gave him a pen and paper along with the price list. But the man did not even look at the latter, he scribbled something down, and handed me the answer. I counted the words, made a mental calculation, looked up the rates as quickly as I could, and gave him the price. Thirty-four nails, two more than I wrote on the invoice for the office, but why would that nail-pincher care: he probably didn’t even bother to calculate the price. After he had paid me, he pressed me:

I ran out of the Stock Exchange, arrived at the central messenger office, and handed over the thirty-two nails and the magigram. Dalem, the clerk, went to pass the message on to the operators while saying:

“By the way, kid! This afternoon a friend of yours came by and left you a message. I slipped it into your locker.”

I arched my eyebrows. A message… for me? With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, I walked away to the back corridor. The door to the messenger room was open, and I saw several of my companions sitting there, commenting cheerfully on a game of forks. Some, according to Yum, managed to lose alarming amounts of money in bets. Following my new mentor’s advice, I had wisely refrained from participating until now.

I crouched down in the corridor near the lockers and put my hand in mine. There I kept my trousers and my old cap, and a pencil, and a lucky cat charm which Manras had given me—and which he had found the Spirits know where—and… there was also a little folded paper. I took it, unfolded it, and read it.

It was signed “Yal”. I inhaled and slowly bit my lip. I felt guilty. Four days had passed since the episode of the wolf in the Ravines, and I had not once gone to see Yal, even though he, with all the kindness in the world, had offered to put me and my companions up. Deep down, I had to admit, I was afraid. I was afraid of having to see Korther again and of having to explain to him why I had stood him up. But maybe Yal didn’t even know about it.

I turned my head and saw that Yum had just returned from one of his rounds and was approaching the corridor with a quick step. I stood up and put the paper in my pocket.

“Ragingly. Just a little tired,” I confessed. It was true: I had not slept much that night because there had been a racket near the Staircase, a long argument followed by a loud fight. In the morning, when we gwaks came out of the hut, we almost expected to find a mountain of dead bodies. In reality, we found nothing. As Yerris said, the Labyrinth was a jungle full of mysteries. And it was not appropriate for any gwak to talk much about what he saw there.

At my distracted expression, Yum cocked his head to one side, reached into a pocket of his uniform, and pulled out two leaves of smograss.

I agreed and chewed the leaf as we made our way to the messenger room. There were six of them watching the game and two playing. I joined the audience, but my thoughts were far removed from the voices of my fellow players. I was not thinking of Yal, or Korther, or the wolf of the Underground. Nor was I thinking of Yerris and his blind eyes, nor of the alchemist, though that was a subject I was almost as concerned about as Korther. No, at that moment, I was thinking of Le Bor and the ten siatos he had promised me. The thing was that, with winter approaching, I was getting really cold whenever I took off the uniform, and my cronies were getting even colder. Stealing clothes was a possibility, but I had no desire to go back to Carnation, so I needed those ten goldies. And for that, I reminded myself, I had to go to The Joyful Spirit and ask to see a certain Caldisona.

A louder exclamation from my coworkers drew me from my thoughts. Five o’clock had come and gone, and like all days—except for Kinddays and Sacreddays when I finished work at ten o’clock at a minimum—my day was over at seven o’clock. Still chewing my smograss, I left the room and shuffled down the hall. I passed the door of the director’s office—by this time, he was probably already at home. In the operator’s room, Dermen was busy filing papers with two other employees. When he saw me, he said:

I helped them willingly for a moment, and then a little bell rang, announcing that new messages had arrived. Tired of filing papers, I ducked out to the main room, and Dalem, the clerk, handed me a small bundle of messages. I looked at the addresses, made sure I knew them all, and walked out with my messages to Riskel. I had four. The first was for a hatter in the Esplanade; the second for a certain Miss Vayra at The Serene in Rose Street. That street was in the neighborhood of Riskel, and was as much transited by the Estergat messengers as the Stock Exchange. When I entered the public house, I found four girls in a state of panic, waving in the middle of the room. The sight so perplexed me that I even forgot to shout ‘The Swallow!’ and instead asked:

“A spider!” the younger one replied, evidently frightened. “A horrible spider! Spirits, we must kill it!”

But apparently none of them had had the audacity to carry out the massacre. With an air of conquest, I said:

“No problem, ladies! I’ll take care of it. Spiders don’t scare swallows. Where is it?”

They showed it to me in a corner of the main room of the establishment, and the truth is, I found it large and hideous, but the ladies’ watchful eyes gave me sufficient courage, and I smashed it firmly against the wall with my boot before it could escape.

“Dead and gone,” I said. And I took off my cap for effect. “The Swallow at your service, ladies. I bring a letter for Miss Vayra.”

Her three friends flattered me in turn, and at once, confused and delighted, I allowed myself to be guided by their gestures, caresses, and words, and found myself sitting at a table, with a glass of milk in front of me, surrounded by four jaybirds chattering about everything and nothing. To my surprise, they asked me about my life, and after thinking about telling them some crazy story, I decided to tell them the truth and proudly said:

“Well, it’s simple. I’m a swallow and a gwak cat. Some people call me the Bard and say I’m good at hollering.”

They were very moved when they heard that I was an orphan and invited me to sing something. I sang them the Kartikada, they loved it, and when I told them, to my regret, that I had two more messages to deliver, they invited me to come back and visit them any time, which I gladly promised them. I went out, taking a big kiss from the Miss Vayra on my forehead, and when I returned to the cold of the night, I thought that those who said that we gwaks grew up without motherly love were slugboneheads, for, being nobody’s children, we were everybody’s, and the kind ladies of Rose Street had understood this well.

I wanted to get rid of the two remaining messages as quickly as possible and ran up the street to Tarmil. The third message was for a young woman who, as soon as she picked up the letter, tore it into several pieces and snarled curses.

I shrugged and hurdled down the stairs like a hare. The fourth message took me to the shop of the barber Malaxalra. Only when I stopped in front of it did I realize that the name felt very familiar. And when I remembered that it was Kakzail’s last name, curiosity took hold of me. Could this mean that this barber was…?

Biting my lip, eager to know more, I peered through the window. The place was still open, and I saw a young, decent-looking man standing by a chair. He was trimming a customer’s moustache. At the back of the small room, there was a boy, no more than two years older than I, who was diligently cleaning razor blades. A gust of night wind reminded me of my job, and I hurried to the door, pushed it open, and announced:

The boy left the blades and went over to sign the receipt. I looked at Samfen with intense curiosity. He was the first person I knew by that name, except for the brother I had supposedly gone to buy syrup for when I was not yet six.

He looked at me with a puzzled expression as he handed me the paper. I put the receipt away, agitated.

“Well… I’m going. Ayo. By the way,” I said though. “Malaxalra… is that a typical name? I mean, are there many of them in the city? I mean, forget what I said,” I added hastily and, under his surprised look, I got out of there hurriedly. “Good mother…” I muttered.

I had made a fool of myself. Well, it wasn’t the first time I’d made a fool of myself, but in front of a family that already didn’t want me, it wasn’t going to help matters. But, anyway, there was nothing to fix, I thought. Nothing at all.

I stopped at the corner and turned my head towards the shop. After a moment’s hesitation, I ran up Tarmil Avenue, turned right again, took a short cut, and arrived at the office just as seven o’clock was about to strike. I changed, put the uniform away, received the forty-two nails I had earned that day, and headed for Yal’s. I remembered that it was at the Fairbank Pension, near Moon Square, down there by the river. Tired of running, I took my time, passed by The Ballerinas, and asked for a snack. I didn’t see Kakzail, nor the giant northerner, nor the twins, or their red-haired caitian companion. I wasn’t exactly looking for them, anyway. I was passing a tavern called The Crazy Nut and had just passed a group of men when one of them stopped and threw:

The White’s ruffian was in costume and carrying a staff and everything. He laughed.

“Went to a burial ceremony, nothing more,” the tall redhead explained. “I was beginning to think that you, too, had been buried.”

“I’ve been staying at the inn,” I explained, as I approached. I took a quick look at the three friends surrounding him. One was Lotus the Tinker. The other two also looked familiar. I greeted them with a wave. “Who died?”

“Oh, old Fieronilles’ wife,” Yarras answered. “The poor fellow invited us, all of us from The Drawer. He has no family left. So, you’ve been in the shade, eh?”

“Yep. Ah, don’t think I’ve forgotten the thirty-six nails I owe you,” I said, acting like an honest man.

I took out three ten-nails, one fivenail, and one nail and gave it to him while he snorted and smiled.

“Well, kid, you just earned my respect. Usually, a gwak memory needs to be refreshed. Right now, I’m going home, but next time I see you walk by The Drawer, I’ll buy you a drink, how’s that?”

“That’s it, that’s it,” I replied, and walked away, striding down the street, thinking of old Fieronilles and his dead wife. I bet that the old man would not get out of his chair in The Drawer from now on.

I found the Fairbank Pension just before a small bridge which led to the islets of the canals. It was an old converted convent, and the courtyard was open and cluttered with bric-a-brac and hanging linen. It must have been nearly eight o’clock, and except for the bawling of a newborn baby and a distant bark on the wind, the courtyard was sepulchral in its silence. I realized, as I wandered from door to door, that I had no idea where Yalet lived. Then I knocked on a door with a candlelight underneath, a young lady opened it, I asked for Yalet Ferpades, but she said she didn’t know the neighbors, that she had just rented, and she shut the door in my face. Well.

Larilan, larilon,
Hey, Spring,
Come out now,
Bombumbim,
How nice, it is spring!
Larilan, larilon,
A little haughty, it is true,
Bombumbim, larilon,
But you’re the most beautiful ever,
’cause always, always, O Spring,
You are the first one to sing.

I had heard a door open. It could only be Yal. No one else here could have enough curiosity to open his door to the cold.

I turned and smiled as I saw my master approaching. He motioned for me to follow him, and I followed, saying:

I said nothing more, and it was not until we were in the little room which served as Yalet’s house that I blurted out:

“I blundered, Yal. And, now, I’m scared because… Korther’s very angry with me, isn’t he? I don’t know what to do,” I confessed.

Lighting a second candle, Yal sat down on his bench and sighed, massaging his forehead.

“Well… I’m not going to lie to you: Korther is very disappointed with you. You’ve lost his trust, and that means he probably won’t offer you any more work.”

I arched an eyebrow. Was that all? My relief must have shown on my face, because Yal pouted. With a gesture, he invited me to sit down.

“It’s not my fault. The stone went crazy, it fell into the ravine, and Korther asked me to go get it. And when I found it, Shokinori threw his wolf at me, and I ran off, but the wolf caught me. And… and then… I don’t know, Elassar. They took the stone from me and left.”

I could tell by his tone of voice that he thought that letting Korther down like that had been foolish. I looked away and remained silent, not knowing what to say. For the most part, I’d run away because of the wolf, but also simply because I’d had enough, because I wanted to go home with my friends, because I wanted to sleep… Reasons that Korther would have found hopeless, childish, and capricious… and maybe Yalet would too.

At that moment, the only thing I wanted was to change the subject. After a long silence, Yalet huffed and asked:

“Tomorrow then,” he agreed. “You can see I’ve even prepared straw mattresses and everything for you. You can’t complain.”

“Thunder!” I snorted and went to try out my future bed before giving my master a wide smile. I bit my lip. “Say, Yal. Remember when we used to go to the Peak and you used to teach me things?”

“Why don’t we go up to the Peak anymore?” I asked with a touch of nostalgia.

“Oh. Well. It’s just that… I’ve taught you everything I can teach you. Except for one thing.”

“That’s how he felt. But that’s okay, I’m sure you’ll make up with him. By the way, the matter with Kakzail, how’s it going?”

Make up with him, I repeated to myself. And what was I supposed to do to make up? Go to the Hostel and see him? I shook my head.

“Yes. Well. If I were you, I’d go see him. You lose nothing by doing so, don’t you think? Well, anyway. I’m gonna go out with some friends to the theater. I didn’t know when you were coming, so I told them I might not go, but… would you like to come?” he asked, standing up.

It was the first time he had invited me to go with his friends, and truthfully, I was quite surprised. Anyway, I gave him an apologetic pout.

Yal gave me a half-mocking, half-affectionate look, ruffled my hair, and we both walked out of his house.

“How are you doing as a messenger?” he inquired as we crossed the courtyard to the exit.

“Fine. I like the work,” I admitted cheerfully. “My companions are friendly. And I don’t just deliver messages. Yesterday, an operator taught me how the machine they use to send magigrams worked, and I sent one. I swear. And Dalem, the one who gives us the messages, he told me that tomorrow it was my turn to go and give hard bread to the pigeons on the Esplanade. He pays four nails. We Estergat messengers take care of a lot of stuff; it may not sound like much, but it’s important.” I assured, repeating words I had heard from Dalem’s own mouth. “Yum says people trust us because of the uniform, and that’s why they give us jobs. I like that.”

“Well, I’m happy for you. Very happy. Anyway, it’s clear that you like this better than the job I got you with Miroki Fal.”

I snorted, we smiled, and then I held up my hand with my index, ring, and thumb extended, saying:

“Fly!” And I explained, “That’s the messenger greeting. You do it like this,” I said, taking his hand, “and you clap your hand, see? I taught it to my cronies, and Manras loved it. He envies me like crazy. Especially because of the uniform!” I laughed. “Well, ayo and enjoy the theatre.”

“Good evening, Mor-eldal. Who would have said you were a real savage just a couple of years ago. Fly,” he said, jokingly.

He made the messenger salute and walked away down the street. I went in the opposite direction, towards the Cats. His last words had troubled me. In fact, I had arrived in Estergat as an ignorant child, perhaps as a savage, but deep down I did not feel that I had changed. That I had improved, I had no doubt, and this fact filled me with satisfaction. But I was still Mor-eldal. And I was glad of that because I still remembered the words of my nakrus master: ‘Don’t forget everything I’ve taught you,’ he had said, ‘and above all, Mor-eldal, above all, never stop being yourself.’

I crossed Tarmil Avenue with a quick step and decided to go to The Joyful Spirit to get my ten goldies.

I knew where the place was: it wasn’t too far from The Wind Rose, and I remembered hearing that the establishment was something like the central den of Frashluc. I had never been inside, and to tell the truth, when I pushed the door open, I was surprised to see that the interior looked like a normal, fairly busy tavern.

I wove my way through the noisy tables, and when I saw no one behind the counter, I turned around twice and bit my cheek thoughtfully. Then I noticed a chubby young woman in an imposing red dress who seemed to be from the house by the way she talked to the customers. I confirmed this when I saw her pass by on the other side of the counter, and I approached.

She deliberately ignored me, perhaps thinking that I was going to ask her for a handout or something. I hastened to disabuse her:

The young woman finally turned to me and arched an eyebrow as she scrutinized me.

“Yes, yes,” she cut me off in a soft voice. “Leyna! Take care of the counter for a moment, will you? Over here, kid.”

She guided me to the back door, we went out into a silent dead end, climbed some half-wormed wooden stairs, and she knocked on a big door.

The young woman let me in, pushing me gently, and without another word, she closed the door behind me, and I heard her go. The smell of incense inside was asphyxiating. A candle lit the room dimly, and I saw a woman sitting on a large bed, heavily made up, but ugly, very ugly, and looking as if she had come out of a horror story.

Her muffled voice gave me the shivers and something instinctively made me seriously consider the possibility of leaving and giving up my ten siatos. But I put on a brave face and replied:

“Draen, ma’am. Someone told me to come see you and that you would give me ten goldies.” I saw her stand up and approach, and I took a step back. I insisted, “I’ve come to get my ten goldies.”

“And you think I’m going to give them to you just like that?” the ugly one scoffed. “Let’s see, Le Bor told me you owed me another favor,” she whispered to me and reached out to my cheek.

Then, quick as a snake, she grabbed my arm, and I screamed, and tried to get away, but the damn woman was strong. She threw me to the ground, and I struggled in vain, and felt her garlic breath on my face.

This time, the voice sounded deeply masculine. The ugly woman guffawed. No, it wasn’t the ugly woman: it was Le Bor. I immediately held back the mortic shock I was about to throw at him and croaked:

That was the only thing I could think of to describe his rotten prank. The ruffian stood up, still laughing.

He lit another candle and sat in a chair with an unfeminine pose. The powders covering his face were as effective as a mask. I stood up, still in disbelief.

“Playing cards like a queen,” the ruffian replied cheerfully. “Come on, sit here and listen. I have something to tell you.”

After staring at him more carefully, I couldn’t avoid smiling, sat down at the little table, and said:

“I must admit it looks good on you. Especially the hair. And the earrings. And the cleavage. Are you wearing garters too?”

I opened my eyes as wide and round as plates when he lifted the dress to show me the stockings and garters. Once the fright overcome, I laughed out loud.

“If you change into a woman, you must do it seriously,” Le Bor said in an expert tone. “Well, let’s get down to business. If I remember correctly, I promised you ten goldies in exchange for a favor.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Le Bor cut me off calmly. “I told you plainly that I would give you ten goldies in return for a favor. Yes or no?”

“Ah,” Le Bor smiled. “Actually, kid, I was thinking of making a little deal with you. But, if I’m not mistaken, it’s already been a week since you got out of Carnation and…” He suddenly pulled out a black pill and left it on the table, saying, “I guess you made a deal with someone else before me.”

The sight of the karuja produced a reaction that frightened me. I looked at the pill, mesmerized, and wondered if Yal was right when he said that, despite everything, sokwatas were also susceptible to addiction. I swallowed.

“No. I’ve… not taken karuja since I got out of the clink. I’m not lying,” I swore at Le Bor’s skeptical expression.

I shrugged without answering, and he drummed on the table. My gaze returned irrevocably to the black pill. Le Bor cleared his throat to attract my attention again, and this time, he put down a small bag, the clatter of which told me immediately what it contained.

“Fifteen goldies,” Le Bor declared casually. “If you take them to a person and come back with the papers she gives you… then I’ll give you your ten siatos, and I also promise that you’ll get something, whenever you come to see me.”

“A little work, money, karuja, whatever. Whatever suits you and me best. Don’t forget that at Carnation, I’ve always been generous. What do you say? Is the deal right for you?”

“Ragingly,” I confessed. “So I work for you, is that it? Natural I’m okay with that. There’s just one thing… I already have another job.”

“Yes, I work for the Swallow,” I explained. “I’m a messenger. I found a goody-goody nail-pincher who wrote me a letter, and I walked in like a king. The thing is, I’m still on probation and I needed a contract and all…”

“Well, well, that’s good to hear! This way, you won’t be here running around under my feet all day. What you mustn’t forget is that here, at The Joyful Spirit, I’m Ferruca Caldisona and that Le Bor has disappeared from the surface of Prospaterra—”

“For that, no worries,” I affirmed, holding up my hands. I left my chair, and as if nothing had happened, picked up the karuja pill, tossed it into the air, and retrieved it on the fly, asking, “Why are you living here in Frashluc’s territory?”

The same friends who had helped him escape, I guessed. I looked at him curiously.

“I only work for myself and my lady. Four-Hundred,” he warned me, eyes squinting, as I was about to open my mouth again. “Don’t get on my nerves.”

I smiled, because at that moment I felt as if I were talking to my nakrus master. How many times had he asked me not to get on his bones with my questions! Except that this time, instead of talking to a skeleton, I was talking to a ruffian dressed as a woman. My smile widened. After a pause, I left the karuja pill on the table, earning a pleasantly surprised look from Le Bor.