22 I’m not a traitor

I did not sleep a wink all night. They had put me, Rogan, and the surrendered men in a cellar. The latter had their hands and feet bound, but not Rogan or me. At Rogan’s request the gag was even removed, and I think he must have regretted it, for I hardly let him sleep. The truth is, I did not let anyone sleep in the cellar, for I was running wild. Sometimes I would cry and scream and call my comrades, sometimes I would sing or rave and stammer, sometimes in Drionsan, other times in Caeldric… It didn’t matter what I was talking about: after a while, nobody paid any attention to what I was saying: they were all more than fed up with me, and if those fellows hadn’t been tied up, I probably wouldn’t have survived that night. If Frashluc had been looking for a suitable torture for his lost sheep, he wouldn’t have found anything better.

In the end, spurred on by the advice of the others as to how to apply the fist against my “snotty face” at the proper speed, Rogan decided to act. He put his arms on my shoulders as I sang.

I collapsed under the weight of the Priest; he forced me to crouch, and I received a blow in the stomach which cut off my breath and left me on the brink of throwing up the half loaf of bread I had eaten that day. I received another blow, and perplexed and confused, I gasped:

“You’re hurting me… hurting me, pal.”

Girding me from behind, Rogan put his other hand on my forehead. He almost poked me in the eye and sighed.

“Will you shut up, Sharpy? If you shut up, I won’t hit you. Does it run? You’re insufferable. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but I hope you’ll get better soon. Come on, lie down, that’s it, and now be quiet, okay?” he said, placing his hand under my jaw as if to prevent me from serenading again. “Oh blasthell,” he muttered. “Now you’re crying? But what the blasthell is the matter with you, shyur? Was it that spell that made you lose your noggin?”

“The witch must have put a spell on him,” one of the adults growled.

“Shut up, please, shut up, everyone,” another begged. “I want to sleep…!”

Another, who had been silent for some time, uttered a snarl of deep irritation.

“That’s enough, you damned demon! By my Spirit, the beating I’m going to give this gwak as soon as my paws are free!”

Feeling completely alien to the threat, I sobbed:

“My cronies…”

“Your cronies are fine, Sharpy; Diver said he’d take care of them, I’ve told you that twenty thousand times!” Rogan exasperated. And he gave me a little tap on the head. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

I wanted to ask, “but where are the bones?” However, at that moment, a flash of insight made me wonder if my question was reasonable and… I was left confused. I was lost. Forgetting to cry, I gazed at the darkness of the place with increasing confusion until, almost at once, I fell asleep. Even if my companions had shouted victory cries, those probably would not have woken me up.

I had a nightmare. Everything started well: I was sitting on the banks of the river of Estergat, on the step of a staircase that went down to the docks. I was carrying a big basket full of fish bones. I picked them up one by one, threw them into the river, and they came back to life and swam again as they had always done. It was pure joy to see them flicking their tails underwater… So far, so good. The problem came when, looking up, I saw Kakzail in fly uniform, leading Dakis with a leash. Both of them were baring their teeth and growling at me. Frightened, I leapt to my feet, slipped, fell into the river, and began to flail about in dismay as a small voice reminded me: you cannot swim, Mor-eldal, you cannot swim! Kakzail and the dog, against all odds, were trying to save me, but I was already at the bottom, in the middle of the fish bones that swirled around me, curious, without understanding that I, unlike them, needed to breathe, without understanding that I was dying…

I received a blow from a very large bony tail. Then another. And another. The river water was shaking me like a plum tree.

“Put some Lezia pepper in his mouth! He’ll wake up with a bang,” a voice said.

It was as if my tongue had caught fire. Someone handed me a glass of water, and I took long sips, my eyes wide open. At last, I looked around me. I had been carried out of the cellar into a well-lit room with bay windows that looked out on to a terrace. There was a large table with three people sitting around it. Two were playing by moving pieces on a checkerboard. And the third man, the oldest, was watching me. He was a pudgy, middle-aged white human dressed as an old-fashioned nail-pincher… Could it be Frashluc? It had to be. However, the mere possibility filled me with apprehension. Well, it wasn’t every day that I came face to face with the biggest kap of the Cats.

A hand took the empty glass I was holding, and I looked away from Frashluc to meet the red eyes of the fourth man in the room. He looked familiar, and when I realized why, I gasped in disbelief. I had seen that man at The Drawer more than once. His name was Jarvik. And they called him the Albino. Because he had very white skin and hair. He was theoretically a dark elf, but he didn’t look like one. As I stared at him, Jarvik gave me a slight embarrassed smile, and Frashluc said:

“I’ve always said this pepper works wonders. Good afternoon, Draen Hilemplert. Please sit down.”

Glancing cautiously at Frashluc, I saw that he pointed to one of the chairs beside him, and I stood up and replied politely:

“Good afternoon, sir.”

My tongue was still burning from the pepper, and my answer sounded wheezy. I walked into the living room and was already sitting in the chair when I turned pale and repeated to myself: good afternoon? Good “afternoon”? I could see the face of the director of the Swallow when he saw that I had not shown up at the office all morning. Good mother… Without thinking about it, I plunged my hand into the pocket where I kept my asofla. Pulling out a stem and stuffing it in my mouth, I thought it was lucky that no one had taken it from me. Perhaps Diver had explained the matter and… Of course, I thought. Frashluc knew all about the sokwata, the alchemist, and the asofla. How could he not? According to those at The Drawer, he had even received some of what the Black Hawk had earned from the salbronix beads. He knew everything.

As the nail-pincher was at that moment busy lighting a pipe, I turned my attention to the two persons playing with the board. They clearly looked like Frashluc, but younger. One was probably my age or not much older. Perhaps sensing my interest, the one with the pipe said:

“This is my son, Darys Frashluc. And my grandson, Lowen Frashluc. I hope,” he continued, “that you have recovered from your apathetic seizure.”

That’s what my teacher used to call it, too: apathetic seizure. I’d already had one when I was eight years old, while trying to revive a bird’s skeleton. I had misused my energy stem, I had been too stubborn and, bang, I had been delirious for days. After I recovered, my master had given me a dressing-down like he had never done before. According to him, I could have remained apathetic and stupid forever. From that day on, I had given up risky experiments and it had never happened to me again. Until last night. Fortunately, I had recovered quickly… hadn’t I?

Concerned, I asked:

“That was last night? Coldpalm and Gowbur, I mean. It was last night, wasn’t it?”

Frashluc arched an eyebrow and stuck the tip of his pipe between his lips before nodding, much to my relief.

“Last night, yes,” he confirmed. “A night to remember. It took the life of a traitor and the life of a witch some thought immortal. I would have given ten thousand siatos for her to live another ten years. It’s not easy to find a good celmist in the underworld.”

I bit my lip under his watchful eye. I couldn’t really feel sad about this news because… well, Coldpalm had lived longer than any sajit of flesh and bone. On the other hand, I was really worried about Little Wolf. That’s because I was supposed to wake up the morjas of his bones every day. Even so, I didn’t dare ask Frashluc if he knew anything and waited in silence. Finally, Frashluc said:

“Listen, kid. I called you here because I’d like to ask you a few questions. We’ll make this quick, okay?”

“It runs, sir,” I agreed, without much enthusiasm.

“Tell me what you and your companions were doing at Coldpalm’s,” the kap demanded.

The son and grandson continued to play silently. The Albino had sat down at the other end of the table and was cleaning his nails with his dagger. I took off my cap, scratched my head furiously, and said, first indecisively, then in the tone of an oratorical gwak:

“Well… I, sir… You see. First of all, let’s make it clear: we, my companions and I, have nothing to do with Gowbur, eh? Really nothing at all. Just to be clear. It just so happens that we were going to see Coldpalm, to visit her. Because there was a little boy there that we liked. When we arrived, I went in and Coldpalm told me that Little Wolf was not there, that he had gone with someone else. So I ask her: where is he? And then, just at that moment, these isturbags arrive, the Green Hood asks the witch to spit everything out, and then, you arrive with the paper under the door, and Gowbur tells us: you are free. Free, your mother! Talk about a lying scoundrel! He sent us straight to the crossbows and tells bigger lies than I do. Uh… well, then you caught us. And that’s it,” I concluded, looking as if to say that, frankly, there was nothing more to pierce.

Frashluc had remained unmoved during my story, but as I finished I saw his lips curl slightly under his grey moustache.

“Brilliant story, kid,” he said finally. “Brilliant.”

I replied with an indecisive smile, not knowing if he was making fun of me or paying me a compliment.

“You only missed one character,” Frashluc added, taking the pipe from his mouth. “Le Bor.” I blinked, looking as if to say: blasthell. He continued with obvious amusement, “What a surprise it was when we found him at the witch’s house, in the company of that Little Wolf and eight hundred and forty goldies. He says he’s not a traitor, and he told us that Coldpalm wanted to leave him the money to take care of the brat. You have to admit, kid, that’s a lot of coincidence. Anybody would think you were all there to try to pull the wool over Coldpalm’s eyes, bleed her dry, and maybe even kill her, in order to avenge the innocent and valiant Gowbur.”

His face had grown stern, and I looked at him, horrified, as he added in the tone of one who asks which is the capital of Arkolda:

“Do you know what I do with traitors, gwak? I gut them, rip out their hearts and brains, and feed them to the dogs. With those who surrender, I do the same, unless they bow very low and I’m in a good mood: then I give them a caning they’ll remember all their lives. And with their accomplices, again, I do the same. Do you want to see it?”

I shook my head, speechless.

“No,” Frashluc approved. “Maybe you want me to give Le Bor back the eight hundred and forty siatos he wanted to take away. Maybe you want me to leave you alone, and also leave in peace your companions who saw the whole scene last night.”

This time I nodded, hopeful, and said:

“I swear I didn’t know Gowbur—”

“Silence,” Frashluc interrupted. “I have no proof, and I don’t feel like believing you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re an accomplice. But you are also a Black Dagger. And, as such, you will pay by doing me a favor.”

I looked at him expectantly. What on earth was that kap going to ask me now? Why wouldn’t he believe me when I told him I was innocent?

“You know the house on Bone Street where Korther sometimes hides, right?”

His question made me frown.

“Natural,” I confirmed.

“You know your kap’s real name?” Frashluc questioned.

My eyes widened.

“No, sir,” I whispered.

“Mm,” Frashluc meditated, looking at me carefully. “Do you know where he lives?”

I shook my head negatively. It was true. I knew nothing about Korther except that he was, almost without a doubt, a demon.

Frashluc then pulled a pendant from under his shirt and smiled, showing it to me. It was shaped like a diamond, like the ten-nail coins, except larger and with a very light grey diamond in the middle.

“When it hears a lie, it vibrates and turns orange,” Frashluc informed me. And he said, by way of demonstration, “I am mute.”

And the diamond turned orange for a moment. I shuddered in disbelief. What kind of magara was that?

“Answer: have you ever stolen for Korther?”

I swallowed, glanced nervously at the pendant, and nodded:

“I have, sir.”

“How many times?”

It took me a few seconds to calculate to:

“Three. Three times, sir.”

“And those three times, did you disable any traps, did you use any picklocks?”

“And I made duplicate keys, sir,” I added, with a touch of pride.

“So, you’re a Black Dagger expert,” Frashluc smiled. The pendant turned orange, and I swallowed. Gosh. “Not so expert,” he corrected. “Tell me, where do you know Le Bor from?”

The change of subject left me confused.

“I-I… Le Bor… I know him from Carnation.”

“You were in the same cell.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you helped him escape. Tell me, do you have any regard for Le Bor?”

After glancing at the son and grandson and meeting the latter’s eyes, I shrugged.

“Natural, I do.”

Frashluc leaned back in his chair, glanced at his son and grandson, and said:

“Then, if you love him so much, you don’t want me to condemn him to the stick. And maybe you also want me to release your mate in the hat, Rogan, don’t you?”

I felt my heart clench painfully. I whispered:

“Don’t hurt them, sir.”

“No,” Frashluc relented. “Not if you bring me… that diamond.”

He reached for a newspaper on the table and showed me a picture of a precious stone. I spelt out the title in a low voice, and it said in large letters:

‘THE WIND TEAR HAS BEEN STOLEN AT THE CONSERVATORY’

I was amazed. The design was exactly like the transparent sixteen-faceted diamond I had stolen in the spring. I didn’t dare look up and pretended to read the article. I was so afraid of the pendant and its little grey stone, so afraid that Frashluc might ask me to rob Korther… that I began to tremble. Not much. A little. But Frashluc noticed.

“You recognize the diamond,” he murmured. He even seemed surprised.

I nodded silently and suddenly had a great idea.

“Sir!” I exclaimed. “If this thing detects lies, it would turn orange if I said I was a traitor. And it wouldn’t change color if I said my mates and Le Bor had nothing to do with Gowbur. So I’m saying, we have nothing to do with Gowbur. You see? Do you see?” I enthused. “I’m not a…”

I fell silent when, in horror, I saw the pendant turn orange. Then it turned green. Blue. Purple. Frashluc laughed, and the grandson did the same, covering his mouth with one hand. I felt the blood rush to my head.

“You lied to me,” I accused him.

Frashluc frowned and pounded his fist on the table.

“Enough of the pleasantries. I need that diamond. I want that diamond. And I know Korther has it. Only a Black Dagger could have walked into the Conservatory in broad daylight and stolen the Wind Tear. Korther denied he had it. But I know he has it. And, you, you will steal it for me.”

I gave him a blank look. My mouth was dry. I thought of Le Bor. I thought of my cronies. Of Rogan, who was still in the hands of Frashluc. Of Little Wolf, who needed me. And, slowly, I nodded and looked away nervously at the newspaper and the print. Korther was going to hate me for this. He was going to hate me maybe more than he hated Yerris. Unless… Unless he didn’t find out. Then he wouldn’t punish me. And no one but the Frashluc family and the Albino would know what I had done.

I heard Frashluc’s amused voice whisper:

“You’re not a traitor.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his pendant turn more orange than ever. I bit my tongue. He was laughing at me. Damn nail-pincher.