Episode Seventeen

Ses Netrasso hated these sort of evenings. The Last Drop Inn was supposed to be a welcoming pub, a friendly pub. He wanted it to be a safe haven for all, regardless of whatever warfare was being conducted outside its doors. Mostly it was. Then there were evenings of this kind, however, when the battles were essentially conducted on his property. One day, he vowed, one day… But he knew that was meaningless. Whatever else he changed, he would always have to condone these arrangements as a price for being a landlord in somewhere like Jakks Way.
So he let Boldan and his gang have the back room for the night; the room officially closed due to leaking drains. He often turned it over to Boldan or another of the gangs and usually didn't mind. The would just gamble or take illegal herbs or do whatever else came into their limited minds. Overgrown louts, Netrasso considered, best out of the way of anyone decent. Tonight was different, however. Netrasso had been instructed to ensure nobody else came into the room. Even if they gave any of the secret codewords or knocks which usually allowed admittance. Nobody was to be let in – except Yaxi and Radav Tanson.
They'll be coming at eight o'clock, Boldan had said. And they did, with remarkable punctuality. The brass saloon clock was still striking when they sauntered into the pub. Netrasso studied them as they approached and tried to reassure himself: they know what sort of an evening this is too. They've faced them before and survived. They only gave the saloon one quick glance apiece. It was intense rather than casual, however, and seemed to tell them everything. Netrasso couldn't see any weapons on them. He also knew of a great many weapons which could be concealed, a great many places to conceal them; and he was only an outsider. They know what they're doing, he told himself again.
"Hey there, Mr Landlord," Yaxi grinned as they reached the bar and Netrasso wished she was acting a little less carefree. "Sorry to jump straight to business but I hear there's a guest list tonight and, hey, we're on it." She glanced significantly at the empty corner normally commandeered by Boldan.
"He's waiting in the back room." Netrasso nodded towards the door. "He said to go straight in."
"Well then, we'll just snog you and scarper if that's OK." They started to walk off.
"Wait," Netrasso said suddenly. He then looked around himself. Nobody officially on Boldan's payroll was left in the saloon, which didn't mean he had no presence there. There were always men looking for payments or favours. Still, he had to say something at least. Leaning across the bar and dropping his voice he urged, "You don't have to go in there. You can just walk away, you know."
Yaxi raised her eyebrows, still smiling. "Just walk away? When such a, you know, big important guy asks us round for drinks?"
"He said he were buying too," Radav supplied.
"The second invite we've had in a week too. First dinner with the neighbours, now this. I've a feeling Jakks Way's taking us to its heart. And what, we're supposed to turn it down? I think not. That'd be… what would that be, hon?"
"Shitey."
"Well I think you just made that word up but we'll kind of let it pass. No, we-"
"He's brought a lot of men with him," Netrasso said.
"See? Everyone wants to welcome us to the neighbourhood. I bet they're all in there waiting to, you know, shout "Hurrah!" the second we step through the door."
"Summit like that," Radav nodded as they moved away.
Netrasso watched them knock on the back door. Watched them step back, be scrutinised, be admitted, step inside; and so pass from his protection. He could do nothing now except hope that they were only playing with him, that they trusted him no more than they did Cepu Boldan.

"Radav Tanson and Yaxi Celcetto," Boldan said with a minatorial smile. "Been hearing quite a bit about you these last few days. Some real interesting stuff. Let's see… You've ridden the caravans up and down the Moretti Road. Passed right through Bladebranch Forest and fought off the Dark Elves. Took care of some seriously heavy business for some merchants on the coast, they were sponging the blood off the walls for weeks. Sailed on one of those ships that prey on fucking pirates." Boldan chuckled. "A nice legend you two are building. Any of it true?"
"All scripture so far, except now my name's Tanson as well," Yaxi replied. Her eyes flickered to the four men standing round the table, then back to Boldan. He was sat opposite them, his posture seemingly relaxed and friendly. "We kind of got married last spring but one."
"A spring wedding? Sweet. And here's my favourite tale. How you two were the ones who knocked over the Four Stars Bank in Chorley last year."
"You know, I told you that was a mistake," Yaxi told Radav. "We build one hell of a career, do all sorts of crazy things, most of which I'm so not going to repeat here. And what do we get remembered for? Knocking over a bank. Like, whoopee."
"Sweet job, by all accounts."
"Yeah, well, my point is, it's not really our kind of job. We only did it to get at something inside one of the vaults."
Boldan chuckled, glancing around his men. "That's the point of bank jobs, ain't it?"
"A specific thing, I meant, which we were hired to get specifically. By a guy who claimed to be its owner, by the way, and we did ask, why don't you just go to a counter and, you know, withdraw it yourself. But he gave us so much financial mumbo-jumbo, in the end it just seemed kind of easier to cut our losses and rob the damn bank. A-a-a-and, to get back to my point yet again… While we're not whaling on bank robbers, the team we put together were a real charming bunch-"
Radav looked at her sharply. "You reckon?"
"I thought they had a certain rough-hewn charm, didn't you?"
"I ended up having a punch-up with one of 'em."
"Were in the main a real charming bunch of guys – and thanks, hon, for that helpful intervention there – it's so not our favourite line of work. And nor's what you do most of the time, Cepu, 'cause I've sort of guessed where this is going already. We've done a bit of homework on you too. Cepu Boldan, 'Blood-Eyes' Boldan, real sweet nickname there by the way. Head of a little gang of scamps in central Jalkin for way longer than the Guards would have liked. Bank robberies, wagon robberies, the odd kidnapping, counterfeiting and, as a bedrock to the finances, that good ol' extortion racket. Plus the occasional murder as part of your ongoing push to be the only gang in central Jalkin. How's that one going, by the way?"
Boldan stared at her for a few seconds. "That's what we're here to talk about."
"Hey, you're going to give us a blow-by-blow account of the latest knife fights? Or do you kind of mean, you want to dragoon us into joining your gang?"
"Guess."
"You think he can guess what our answer's gonna be, hon?" Yaxi asked Radav. "I'm so hoping he hasn't so I can tell him and watch his face fall."
"It'll be a picture."
Boldan smiled slightly. "Yeah, that's it. Look at my face. Both of you. Thing is, you've given me a problem. If you were just more wogs coming into town to cream off the state, I could ignore you. Another couple of wog shits, I'd think, an'-"
"Nice," Yaxi smiled. "But kind of not too accurate when it comes to Radav. I'm looking into your face as directed and, hey, very sweet it is, but it's no paler than his. A bit less pale, you know, as you seem to be getting a bit tetchy. What's that all about?"
"Reckon you interrupted him there," Radav said.
"Oh yeah. I did, didn't it? Sorry. Carry on."
After a moment Boldan said, trying to keep his voice level, "I'd think some monkey an' his wog wife."
"That's better."
"But you ain't that, are you? There's these legends. I'll bet every bit of gold I've ever stole you've got some hardware stacked away in that flat of yours. And yeah, I know which flat it is."
"Well, duh."
"And you're putting out this story about how you're on holiday. I think that's a piece of shit. You're here for a reason. So what I'm saying is… You think I'm just gonna let a pair like you run around free in my neighbourhood? Talking to whoever you like? Doing any deals you like? Fucking well think again." Another pause, then Boldan added, "I'm not asking for much. I'm not saying, join my boys or else. Not sure I'd have a pair like you, to be honest. But we come to an agreement tonight. We make a… a treaty, understand? Then everything's settled, we're all good mates and we'll have that drink together. Right?"
Yaxi leant back and asked, "And if we don't agree to some of the sub-clauses in this treaty and, you know, refuse to sign it?"
"Just seven of us in this room. Me, my boys and you two. How many do you want to walk out?"
"Uh-huh. Hey, just out of interest, does this approach work a lot?"
"It does it's job."
"And do you think it's working right now?" Before anyone could react she asked Radav, "You know that thing you do under the table with your dagger?"
"Aye. Just got it in place now."
"What's it pushed against?"
"Dunno. Reckon it's his dick."
"Yeah? Is that right, Cepu, is the tip of his dagger right against – Yeah, look at his expression, hon. It's his dick." Yaxi looked up at the men stood around the table and announced, "In case you kind of missed that development, my husband's got a dagger pressed right up against your guy's dick. Anyone does anything to make him tetchy, it's going to go a foot further forward and won't that be fun to watch. You know, hon," she added, "I sort of wish you'd stop choosing the dick. It does a job but, you know, lacks class."
"Weren't out of choice. I were aiming for the belly but seemed to get lost."
"Yeah, right." Yaxi's hands dropped. When they came up again each was holding a knife; tight, angled, ready to throw. She swivelled on her chair so she could see all of Boldan's men at once. "OK, what I could do with now is for you guys to all take a few steps back." She waited. None of them moved, apparently frozen in uncertainty towards this new situation. "Guys?" Yaxi said lightly. "You kind of want to start listening to me? Otherwise I've a feeling your boss is gonna spend the rest of his days talking in a high pitched voice. Which I admit would be pretty funny but-"
"Do what she says," Boldan rasped.
"Thanks, Boldo. Want to repeat that in that high pitched voice just to give them a taste? No? Oh well, it would've been a scream. OK, that's far enough, guys," she called to the men who had been slowly shuffling back. "Sort of awkward throwing knives at people when they're standing real close, did you know that? I think I've got you in the, like, optimum range now. So why don't you put down your dagger and you drop that dinky little crossbow and you – well, you're so tooled up you'd better take off your whole belt. Don't be, you know, embarrassed if your pants fall down. I'm a pretty worldly gal."
They were good, she conceded, now that they had recovered from their shock. They moved very carefully, very slowly. And their concentration was locked on her, waiting for the first stutter in her attention. She was good as well, however. Her eyes moved evenly from one man to another, noting every movement. Her hands held the knives in a steady, vigilant grasp. Radav, meanwhile, continued to stare at Boldan, his own dagger maintaining its gentle but steady pressure.
There was a pause after the gangsters had put down their weapons. Thinking he had detected uncertainty in it, Boldan demanded, "Now what the fuck are you going to do?"
"We-e-e-ell," Yaxi replied brightly, not turning around, "Seven people entered this room, like you said, and I think us two are gonna leave it now. The rest of you don't have to. You can stay here, settle down and grow crops. But it's sort of beddy-byes time for me and the husband."
"This'll be good," Boldan sneered. "You watch this, lads. See how she gets out like that with her bad leg."
"Oh. Yes. Me and my bad leg. Oh deary, deary me. What is, what is –"
She tapped her foot. Then she and Radav rose swiftly and simultaneously. Yaxi tossed one knife up; Radav snatched it out of the air. Now he had two daggers ready to be thrown; Yaxi had her walking stick in her free hand. The whole manoeuvre had taken perhaps three seconds.
"-What is a poor old cripple to do?" Yaxi continued. "Hey Boldo, why don't you get up kind of real carefully and go over to join your guys. It's so, so sweet to see a little gang all sticking together. And why you might be thinking is, three daggers, five of us, wa-hay, no problem here. But we will be aiming at the very first guy who moves wrong and after all you've heard about us, do you really want to be that guy? You know, really? What's more, Radav will still be tossing a blade right at Boldo and, being Radav, he'll be tossing it right at Boldo's dick."
"It's a big target," Radav said. "You've got to give him that."
"Well, I'm kind of disturbed you've even noticed that. But after a number of years I'll probably be able accept it and move on." Boldan had reached his men. Yaxi and Radav began circling towards the door, eyes still clinging to the gang.
"And what do you reckon'll happen to you when you get out there?" Boldan demanded, his tone still belligerent and disdainful.
"Well, I'm hoping we'll all be able to look back on this one day and laugh together," Yaxi said. "We are on holiday, Boldo, despite this weird belief of yours that we never can be, and we so want to get on with it."
"Then you should holiday somewhere else. And start packing tonight."
"Yeah? OK, but we've already done the coast, we've done the hills, we've done the two lakes… Nope, I think the Cities suits us fine."
"Then you don't have the first fucking clue who I am," Boldan spat.
They had reached the door. "No, we've met you before," Yaxi said. "We kind of meet you in every town and city we roll into. And hey, it's always a pleasure." She leant her stick against the wall. Radav tossed a knife back to her and turned the door handle. "And you know who we are, Boldo," Yaxi continued. "'Cause you took the trouble to read up on us which, I've got to say, is kind of touching. You know what we can do. We knocked the Four Stars Bank over and that was pretty much a rest day for us. I'm not even bothering putting that on the résumé, 'cept maybe in the 'Other Experiences' box. So you so need to ask yourself if you want to be dragging us off our holiday. 'Cause if you do we might be a bit… is 'narky' the word, hon?"
Radav opened the door a sliver, glanced out, turned back. "Aye. Narky." Again the knife was thrown between them and Yaxi was holding her stick once more.
"And when we get narky… well, it's kind of not good. Just think about the alternative though. All of us sat down together, laughing about this evening. You guys getting on with your busy little deeds, me and the husband just taking it easy. Sweet picture, isn't it?"
Then they were out of the room and the door was kicked shut. The knives vanished as soon as they re-entered the saloon of the Last Drop Inn. They proceeded cautiously, however, Radav walking backwards while Yaxi scanned the drinkers in the pub. Nobody stopped them. Everyone, in fact, tried to avoid looking at the little procession for more than a second. When Boldan commandeered the back room for an evening, it was best not to be interested in what came out.
Boldan himself didn't. Not while the Tansons were shuffling through the saloon; not while they were hurrying down the street. They stopped walking back-to-back and flitted their concentration around the shadows, aware that the gang could have found a different exit and a different angle.
"You know," Yaxi remarked after a short distance, "If this is gonna become a thing, I'll have to find a way to take my bow out with me. 'Cause one day they're kind of gonna find out I can't throw a knife for shit."
"You could just learn how to," Radav pointed out.
"Well, that's not really very likely, is it?" The tapping of her stick on the flagstones grew more rapid. She was now moving at the fastest pace she had short of the uncoordinated lurch which approximated a run. Radav looked behind him again and the street was still empty. Yaxi stared ahead, though she could now detect their tenement block – and the street was still empty. She tried to move quicker. "He knows where we live," she said unnecessarily.
"Zokou can look after herself."
"Yeah. Only there's a certain method she might choose to look after herself which could cause, you know, complications afterwards. Not that she'd choose to do that if there were any other-"
"Aye," Radav said heavily. It was the closest he ever came to telling his wife to shut up.
"You know," Yaxi ventured, "We could try the coast again."
"It stinks of fish an' the folks are all tossers an' the bloody cliffs keep falling down," Radav said with uncharacteristic venom. "Don't talk to me about the damn coast. Anyway, we need to get Zokou sorted. Reckon we could do that in Port Sea Shanty?"
"True."
"Besides which, you said it yourself. We meet Boldans everywhere. Want to start running from 'em all?"
"And if Zokou's had to kind of adopt that method of self-defence."
"Oh, aye. We'll leg it then. First coach out of here."
Zokou had not. She had been enjoying a quiet evening alone attempting to study. Therefore she was somewhat nonplussed when Yaxi and Radav barged in abruptly, barricading the door behind then with any spare items of furniture, unlocking the chest where their proper weapons were stored. Boldan hadn't attacked the flat. He didn't launch an attack the whole of that first tense night. And if he did, when he did, he would fail. The Tansons were all confident of that. They had survived far worst than Cepu Boldan before.
Nonetheless he had changed them. And in one way he had damaged them. They had to be vigilant now. They had to plan. They had to consider other people properly, not simply targets to be courted or deceived for amusement. Their idyllic first period, when they were indestructible players in a game nobody else understood, was over. They were at risk and they were just a little afraid. In short, the Tansons had properly arrived in Jakks Way.

Episode Sixteen

Hanging around street corners on an evening. The activity which Stonnie Heppac's parents seemed to believe he prize above all others. He encouraged this illusion. "Just hanging around" was a euphemism he found useful when interrogated about his plans. It disguised some of the other things he did on an evening which his parents emphatically wouldn't approve of. Nor, on occasions, would the Guards.
In fact, just hanging around was often dull and dispiriting. Especially as the corner he usually chose was the intersection of Mankho's Passage and Ashel Street. This kept him firmly inside Jakks Way, that district which managed to be both beside the world's epicentre and next to the back end of nowhere. Doing nothing all evening except watching humdrum Jakks Way conduct its menial life, Stonnie would find, confirmed your irrelevance. It stated that you had no home which was truly yours. That you had no money either and no woman. That you were still too powerless to escape your birthplace, and too timid to even visit another district after sunset. All these accusations were in fact true for Stonnie. Which meant that many nights were indeed spent "just hanging around."
Enforcing the sense of scraping a near-empty barrel this evening was the fact that he was alone with Marksen. Marksen was the default, the one could always be relied on to always be around, having even less money and even less parental control. Stonnie liked the boy in a way; he was clever, he was exciting. He preferred, however, a few of his other friends to be around as well. They acted as a buffer for Marksen's excesses and sometimes kept them in check. Alone, Marksen's cunning could turn him into a smartarse. And the recklessness which made so exciting often gave him the look of a psycho. As he matured, Stonnie was increasingly sharing the opinion which the adult world held about Marksen – he was unsettling.
For example: earlier a particularly obese man had waddled past. Both boys, of course, immediately began the chant:
"Who ate all the spuds?
You fat bastard, you fat bastard
You ate all the spuds!"
Without looking round, the man gave an equally traditional response. He waggled his right hand up and down to imply that his tormentors were unduly attached to masturbation. That for Stonnie was the end of the episode. Both parties had continued their customs and satisfied their honour. Marksen, though, started scooping up stones and hurling them at the fat man. He even pursued him a little way down the street, still hurling vigorously. All the missiles missed their target in the gloomy air. The man pretended not to notice, perhaps genuinely did not. If he had turned and confronted his assailant, however, Stonnie was sure that Marksen would continue throwing. And if the man got close enough he would probably start attacking him. Stonnie recalled that when his friend was younger he was particularly fond of torturing cats and lizards. He sometimes thought Marksen desisted because he had grown more ambitious rather than less cruel. That he was still searching for more satisfying victims.
And he was trying company even when relaxing. Stonnie had made the mistake of imparting details of the Tanson dinner party. That had been three nights ago and Marksen still hadn't shut up about it.
"What she look like again?" he demanded.
Stonnie sighed. He was rhythmically kicking a wall with his heel, his usual habit when bored. "Which one?"
"Who you think, nob-end? Not the big one. Seen that fucking dyke lumbering around mesen. The lass. Zoko or whatever."
Stonnie had already given an extensive description of Zokou. He tried capturing in words her odd dichotomies of exoticness and conformity, of timidity and confidence. He always failed and knew the only parts his friend was interested in anyway.
"How good you say her tits were?" Marksen specified helpfully.
"They're OK. Can't complain."
"Big as Lalai's?" Lalai was always used as a marker in these conversations, the girl known to have the largest breasts in their school.
"Naw, but Lalai's a fucking barrel," Stonnie said harshly. "This Zokou's pretty slim. Thin girls always have smaller tits."
"Not the dead good ones. The best ones, they're like…" Marksen sketched in the air the outline of a woman who, Stonnie felt, would be a circus freak. "An' this Zokou's their ward, you say? What the fuck's a ward?"
"Dunno. Mum said it means they're looking after her though they're not her mum an' dad."
"Sounds like bullshit. Bet they use her as a sex toy," Marksen sniggered. "Both of 'em. No way they're shagging each other."
"How d'you reckon?" Stonnie demanded.
"Well, look at that big fucking ape. All them muscles an' stuff. Clearest fucking dyke I ever seen. She'd never be sharing a bed with a bloke."
"You're full of shit."
Marksen laughed. "She probably grabs that Zokou an' shoves her right up her fucking twat. Head first. Then pushes her in an' out." And with that he began to sing:
"Fat ugly dyke
Do I not like
Your ugly hairy body
You stick to lasses
Ones who need glasses
An' keep the fuck away from me."
He seemed about to continue but then abruptly stopped himself. Perhaps he had noticed Stonnie's habitual kicking of the wall increasing in speed and ferocity. Marksen slumped beside his friend again, giving him the occasional glance and giggling to himself.
The evening grew darker. A highly stacked delivery van clattered past. The boys watched it expectantly but the donkey was pulling it carefully and no produce bounced off the back. And they weren't going to risk raiding it just to get an armful of potatoes and swedes. In its wake, a lone youth appeared and turned down Ashel Street. He too was scrutinised closely. He was a stranger. Stonnie and Marksen exchanged looks, wondering whether to challenge him; just as they would be stopped from entering a rival district at this time of night. The youth was rather older and bulkier than they were, however. He also clearly had a short sword fastened to his belt. Even Marksen decided to let Jakks Way be violated by intruders on this occasion. An evening of just hanging around could contain a hundred such episodes. Encounters which promised excitement for just a second; before the wind shifted and evaporated it.
"Boldan's got his eyes on 'em, I heard," Marksen said eventually.
"Who?"
"Your fucking dinner mates. Ugly an' Uglier."
Stonnie pushed his anger down again. Thee was no point hitting Marksen. The boy always lost his fights. And always afterwards managed to find ways to contort his defeats into victories. "How come?"
"I dunno. Wants to know what they're playing at, I reckon. You could get in with Boldan here, you know. He's looking for anyone with info on 'em."
"Yeah? Well, I don't know shit."
"You had fucking dinner with 'em," Marksen exclaimed.
"Yeah, but they didn't say shit when I were there. Not stuff Boldan'd want to hear. Just a load of toss about Ellniss. Reckon that were all bullshit too."
Marksen often talked about 'getting in with' Boldan. It appeared to be his one ambition in life. He might eventually succeed too. Boldan's henchman occasionally joined the street corner loiterers if there was a decent crowd out. Seemingly just for the sake of it. But they always reminded Stonnie of the recruiting officers from the Forgar workshops who sometimes visited his school. Well, let them all try. He wouldn't say so out loud, not yet, but Boldan had even less chance of ensnaring him than the factory who had crippled his father. Stonnie thought that Marksen was a psychopath. He had absolutely no doubts about Cepu Boldan. He owned memories which ensured that.
"I reckon that-" Marksen began then broke off, peering down Mankho's Passage. "Hey," he called out. "Evening, lasses.
Jaricta and Nostell, both girls in their year at school, sauntered into view and stopped in front of them. Stonnie immediately fixed all his attention on Jaricta. All his thoughts and memories too. It was a sign of the flittering qualities of his nascent libido that Yaxi and Zokou were forgotten in a breath. Though possibly also an indication that he recognised the difference between the fantastic and the just about obtainable. He had been very aware of Jaricta for some time now. She was smart and clever, he thought, certainly by the standards of her peers. Her body was just the right side of plump and her breasts were emerging nicely. She had bad skin, legacy of a short but savage smallpox epidemic three years ago which had taken some of his friends. He couldn't see the little craters in the dark, however. And he hadn't been able to see them on the few occasions he had kissed her and felt her up. That was the extent of their relationship thus far, isolated entanglements facilitated by alcohol. He believed they both wanted to start an actual romance and wished at least one of them could find the nerve to begin one. It probably wouldn't happen tonight. Jaricta stared at the ground while he studied her. As soon as she glanced up, he turned away hurriedly. This occurred a lot.
He would also have to get her away from Nostell for once. Nostell always struck him as a female version of Marksen. Not as dangerous maybe, but just as smug and probably even nastier. She and Marksen also always assumed they were the superior halves of their partnerships, dominating the conversation and only addressing each other. "Hey," she answered. "You two here again?"
"Best place in the world."
"Yeah, whatever. What you up to?"
"Just hanging around. Looking for some kicks."
"Found any yet?"
"Maybe have now," Marksen leered. "Now you're here."
Nostell snorted. She did at least have the sense to treat Marksen's suggestive comments with suitable contempt. Stonnie looked up again and managed to hold Jaricta's gaze for a few seconds.
"All right, Jarry," he offered.
"All right, Stonnie," came the shy reply.
"'All right Jarry all right Stonnie,'" Marksen mimicked in a grotesque falsetto. Stonnie started kicking the wall again.
"You hear about Olbaran?" Nostell asked.
"Heard he got kicked out for twatting a teacher," Marksen said. "Old No-Dick weren't it?"
"Yeah. He did more than take a swing at him though. He went fucking psycho. Jarry saw it all. Just launched himself at him. Even fucking bit him."
"That No-Dick's a fucking wanker."
"Yeah, but biting him," Nostell insisted. "What sort of poof does that. He must be a right headcase."
"I dunno," Marksen shrugged. "Sometimes a bloke gets hungry. An' there's plenty of meat on No-Dick."
Nostell giggled. "You're a headcase yourself. Surprised they ha'n't chucked you out yet."
"If they knew half the stuff I'd done…"
Nostell rolled her eyes. "Yeah, big man. Whatever."
The conversation expired. Marksen seemed to want to do more bragging but couldn't find an excuse. Nostell wasn't inclined to give him an opening. Stonnie knew his friend had an eye on her but didn't believe girls of her cast ever went for boys their own age. "OK, we're off," she announced eventually. "Good luck finding them kicks."
"Bye, Stonnie."
"Bye, Jarry."They managed to exchange one more glance as she was walking away. She stared over her shoulder shyly, perhaps wistfully. And then she turned back, guided by Nostell's firm arm, and quickly vanished into the darkness. Stonnie continued gazing after her, ignoring Marksen's predictable parody of their farewell. Moments promising excitement for a second, he thought. Then the wind shifts.

Episode Fifteen

Myran Smithson dropped five toad eye berries into the pan. Each reacted slightly curiously when they hit the boiling water, sizzling ferociously as if covered with scalding fat. They started behaving after a few seconds, however, and sunk to the bottom of the pan. As they slowly dissolved, they stained the water an unwholesome dark red and began emitting a faint acrid scent. Smithson stirred the brew gently, thinking while he did: somebody at some time discovered that this is a very good cure for constipation. Boiled red berries; blocked orifice. How on earth had the connection been made? Such questions often troubled him as he practised herblore, which relied a great deal on magic and ancient wisdom and therefore not a great deal on logic.
"Be about five minutes, Mrs Horstice," he declared. "Come back later if you want."
"I'll wait, if that's convenient, Mr Smithson."
Smithson shrugged and set up stools on the other side of the room, for the smell from the hearth was becoming quite strong. It was not just convenient, it had been expected. Calli Horstice was not merely seeking a cure for constipation. She was Showing Her Face. The Last Drop Inn was but one place where Calli was suddenly visible since being elected praetor. Smithson's the herbalist, Ramac the blacksmith, Golting the fruit and veg man; all the local traders previously ignored by a woman who preferred buying expensive goods from outside the neighbourhood were now given her patronage. Not everyone got her custom. But she carefully selected the businesses which were seen as integral to Jakks Way, who composed its character. Doubtless if she had any documents to forge she would call on Kalinka the Inker round the corner.
"Has there been any further news about your trading license?" she asked politely, shuffling uncomfortably on her stool. Smithson wondered if she personally was plagued with the constipation.
"No. The Gods still seem to have that inside their mills."
"Yes, I see. One does wonder sometimes if they are really grinding at all. I'm sorry I have been unable to help you further. My influence with Jalkin Council's Trade & Industry department is very limited, unfortunately…"
Smithson nodded. Calli Horstice's influence almost everywhere was very limited. He knew why and knew that it would mean she would probably never be more than a praetor. She was not brilliant, not well connected and not, save by Jakks Way standards, rich. She had nothing to sell, be it patronages, ideologies or oratories. He liked her, however. Her attitude to his trading license epitomised why. When she heard he still didn't have a licence, despite his palpable skills as a herbalist, her sole concern was to try and help him obtain one. She hadn't seemed to ask why he was quite happily trading without one, nor whether she should try to end this blatant flouting of the law. Such myopic humanitarianism was another reason why she would most likely not rise far.
"Don't worry about it," he said equably. "There is something you can tell me though. My payment, if you like."
Calli's eyebrows rose. "Mr Smithson, I believe I have already paid you in full for today's-"
"Not for the toad eye berries. Payment for not spending the next five minutes harassing you about your Councillor friend."
"I assure you, I'm quite willing to fully answer any questions about that affair."
"Not the ones I'd ask, you wouldn't," Smithson said, smiling faintly. Because she knew of his reputation, Calli hesitated and finally conceded,
"What do you wish to know instead?"
"Tell me about the law of paternal acknowledgement. I know of it but not the specifics."
Calli looked at him and broke into a snorting laugh. "What on… Why by Garrath do you want to know about that?"
"Let's call it a school project," Smithson said calmly.
"Oh, very well. Paternal acknowledgment… let me try to get this right… It says that if a man declares an infant to be his child, and I think the maximum age of the child is five years, if he makes the claim, the mother agrees and if there are no contrary claims for paternity… Then the infant is his child and he must fulfil all obligation. Most importantly, the claim cannot be rescinded later."
"That's all there is to it?" Smithson frowned. "Does he have to sign anything?"
"No, the claim can be an oral one providing there are two independent witnesses… And I understand your expression, Mr Smithson. Paternal acknowledgment is an extremely archaic law, older than Christoté itself. It is almost never used now. But it somehow found its way onto our statute books and has never been revoked."
"'Welcome to the brand new world / Just like the last one, so I'm told,'" Smithson quoted. "Does the midwife at the birth count as an independent witness?"
"I imagine she would, providing she is not related to any party. The priest also."
"I'm sorry?"
"A priest or priestess is sometimes asked to be present at difficult births. In case of…" Calli paused delicately.
"Of course. A midwife, a priestess. And a father pointing at a screaming infant shouting, 'Bigods! The feller's mine!' Words he can never take back. It sounds like a scene in a farce."
"I believe that it was used in one," Calli smiled. "A rather good piece by Myers Cass. Perhaps that's where your recollection comes from."
"I don't go to the theatre much. Real life is entertaining enough." And surreal enough, he thought. He had refused to pass Morran Ceppac's commission to anybody until he had checked it was at all feasible. This didn't seem at all likely. The pitiful last hope of an abandoned mother. At the same time there was always that small chance. Because real life, and especially real statute books, could contain almost any lunacy.
"And is the law in force across all Christoté?" he asked.
"I think, though I'm not entirely sure, that it was always an exclusively Dorlafan law. Not entirely surprisingly, it hasn't proved very popular."
""So it wouldn't apply to, say, a father from Elsey?" He relished the swift, sharp look which Calli gave him. Smithson was known to be from Elsey. She believes she's just found out something new about me, he thought. And let her carry on believing that.
"That rather depends," she said thoughtfully. "I would have to check, but I imagine that it's covered in the Confederacy Family Acts. A great many of these obscure local laws were."
"The… ah, one of those attempts to unify laws across Christoté, right? To make us look like a single proper country. Rather than seven separate countries stuck together with rather substandard glue."
"That is correct."
"How's that going, by the way?"
Calli gave her rueful smile again. "It is, as ever, a work in progress."
"So tell me how the Family Acts would work in the case of paternal acknowledgement," Smithson requested, hobbling across the room to give the pan of toad eyes another stir.
"As I said, the law can only be enacted in Dorlaf. But if it took place here then it would apply to any Christotan citizen – not simply, I mean, to Dorlafans. Furthermore, it would continue to have effect even if all concerned left Dorlaf again afterward. The man is the father of the child and that is that. It works on the same principle of a marriage being legally binding across the Confederacy wherever it occurs."
"And what happens," Smithson asked slowly, "If another Province, Elsey say, has their own little law covered by the Family Acts saying a dad can denounce a child whenever he fancies it?"
"Well, of course."
When she offered nothing else, Smithson looked at her quizzically. "No, I mean-"
"That is why," Calli said, "This country has a great many lawyers and some are very highly paid."
The toad eyes were almost ready. Smithson made himself focus on completing the potion which, for no good reason, required a pinch of sand to be added at the end. A little string of other customers came in after Calli left. He kept this other problem stored away until he had dealt with them all. Herbalism requires absolute concentration. Years of mental training had given Smithson an orderly mind filled with small compartments which he could open at will.
An hour latter he allowed himself a sit-down and time to examine the Morran Heppac commission again. "I know you know shady blokes who do this sort of stuff," she had claimed. She was right, though many weren't especially 'shady.' They were mostly former Guardsmen, who had left the force due to injury or old age or politics or, at worst, some small corruption scandal. A lifetime in the Christotan National Guards had trained them to fight and follow suspects and interrogate witnesses and do absolutely nothing which might earn them a proper wage. They now called themselves private detectives or freelancers. An objective observer would label them unemployed drunks who spent most of their energy bitching about how soft Guardsmen had become since their day.
Now Smithson had a commission for one of them. It involved Notrufans; unless Morran had another heavily pregnant and clearly desperate friend she was hiding away. There wasn't a great deal of time, if the size of Zesheyek's belly was any indication. A detective had already been involved and had, allegedly, done more hurt than help. The target was apparently a powerful aristocrat. There was a heavy cloak of absurdity covering the whole affair which could only grow thicker. And there was the likelihood that it would all be in vain and would leave the clients no better off. Which of Smithson's contacts were cynical enough to accept?
Well, that removed perhaps two names. He started working through the long list again, this time looking at whom he trusted and who might actually succeed. This removed possible candidates somewhat more effectively.

Episode Fourteen

Stonnie Heppac was growing up. His mother noticed the true extent when the Tansons came round for dinner. He was simply mesmerised by Yaxi. By her black skin, by her muscular body, by what Morran had come to recognised as her powerful air of sexuality. The poor fourteen year old boy had never seen anything like her before. Certainly not in close quarters, not sat in his very own apartment. Certainly not giving hi the occasional wink. He looked close to fainting the first time she did, through either terror or lust or possibly both. The rest of the time he managed the composure of a slowly boiling haddock.
The only element which broke his obsession with Yaxi was Zokou. She was older than him, Morran estimated, but not by much. And despite her foreign appearance, she was his type. Another scrawny street kid. Morran had seen him hanging around with girls like her. He had possibly gone further with them; his mother, at present, didn't want to know. If Stonnie fixed Yaxi with an awestruck gaze, the looks which he spared Zokou were calculating. And Morran had placed the girl next to him at the table and the woman directly opposite. Happy early birthday son, she thought. Normally it was a struggle keeping Stonnie in place for ten minutes before he wanted to be out with his mates again. Tonight she foresaw a fight to get rid of him after the meal.
Zokou had affected Morran strongly for different reasons. Yaxi had asked her beforehand if they could bring another person. No details were supplied. Morran's sense of hospitality made her agree but she had reservations. She was expecting another Tanson. Or rather, another Radav, just without the good manners or restraint. Some foul-mouthed traveller wanting a free meal. Instead they had presented this strange girl. Announcing, for good measure, that she was living with them as their ward. A peculiar word which belonged to the aristocracy, not nouveau riche barbarians.
And the declaration shocked Morran. It showed her how far she still stood from being friends with Yaxi. Her notion of friendship, that is, where affection is built slowly and in conjunction with candour. At first she expected to be taken aside and given at least a truncated explanation about Zokou. Again, though, Yaxi gave no more details. She was amiable immediately with people she met and then used this as a wall. Any truths had to be tricked and teased out of her. Morran realised she was being treated as an absolute stranger would be and this hurt her a little.
Zokou didn't have the self-assurance of her guardians, if guardians they really were. She seemed to have inherited their ways, however. Treat an interrogation as a game. Never refuse to answer outright but always say something even more intriguing, which creates five more questions. Morran decided to play, at least for now. While serving out the substantial meal she asked the girl,
"You're their ward, then, love? So what does that involve?"
Zokou smiled and nodded across the table at the Tansons. "Doing what they say, mostly." Yaxi stuck her tongue out at her.
"So they've kind of taken over from your mum an' dad?" Morran persisted.
"Kind of, yeah."
"An' your real mum an' dad? Are they..?"
Zokou caught the implication after a moment. "Oh, no. Not as far as I know. They were still living back in Blacksheln."
"Where?"
"Port Blacksheln. Place I was born. You know, that big port in Ellniss."
"You're from across the water?" Stonnie squawked. He was not doing well. This was virtually the first thing he had said and really not uttered in an alluring tone. Zokou gave him a suitably haughty look.
"Yeah? What about it?"
"But Yaxi an' Radav here just came in an' took you over?" Morran asked. "Got made your, whatsit, legal guardians?"
"Yeah, I don't think we should look too closely into the legal aspects of it," Yaxi warned. "It's a bit, you know…"
Morran was still looking at Zokou. "Di'n't kidnap you, did they?"
For some reason the girl erupted into giggles. "Well…" she eventually managed.
"Hey, consent was asked and consent was granted, thank you," Yaxi said.
"Eventually," Radav observed.
"They got me out of Blacksheln," Zokou told Morran. Yaxi breathed,
"And let's all say a prayer of thanks to that."
"I like Blacksheln," Radav protested..
"So you keep saying, hon. And every time we visit this place you like so much, boy, do you whip us out of it again fast enough."
Finally everyone's plates were stacked high with food. Morran took her place at one end of the table, looked around slightly nervously and told her guests, "We normally say a prayer before dinner… Are you Church of Ella yoursens?"
"Narlat," Yaxi said.
"The Great God Garrath," Radav said. And Zokou replied,
"It's pretty complicated explaining what I am."
"Then we'll skip the prayer. The Goddess don't want us ramming our faith down other folks' throats. That's what the food's for."
They began to eat it. Morran was a very good hostess by Jakks Way standards. She stuck to the basics, the foods she knew well. Lamb, potatoes, peas, dumplings. When entertaining, the temptation is always to wander into strange lands looking for the items which aristocrats consume Food which you cannot afford and which the guests are uneasy eating because they know you cannot afford it. They are also unhappy because they can taste that you don't know how to cook it either. Morran was faithful to the wares she had prepared for years. Which she could blend with a sprinkling of salt, a pinch of parsley and rosemary to make into something subtly delicious.
She made too much of it, however. That tended to be her failing. Each portion was a huge, unstable tower on the plate. The Heppacs could afford this meal but Morran had wasted a whole week's food allowance on it. She tried to stop herself but anxiety had bit her at strategic times, pouncing when she was buying the lamb and putting the potatoes in the pot. More, it always cried, or they won't like you, they'll think you a miser. The result was a meal bluff and normal on the surface but whispering of inner insecurity. Which rather summed up Morran's attitude towards both the Tansons and entertaining in general.
Still, she told herself, she was trying. She had approached newcomers whom everyone else merely peered at from a distance and whispered about, and she was making a gesture. She was displaying acceptance and tolerance towards strangers, those qualities which are supposed to be a feature of the Triple Cities and so very rarely are. She was ensuring this very disparate gathering was only slightly awkward. And she was doing it alone – or at least, without the help of her own family. Stonnie was still in his lust-induced trance. Dryden was a mute, as he had been for the past few days; Morran vowed that soon she would find the energy to beat his latest woe out of him. Saska and Temes were talking but only to each other, in low murmurs and accompanied by much giggling. It was the only real bad habit which the girls possessed but was a trying one; especially now, as Morran suspected they were mainly laughing at Yaxi. Ignoring her daughters for the time being, she asked her guests,
"You travelled in Ellniss a lot then?"
"Yeah, a reasonable amount," Yaxi said airily. "'From mighty mountain to dusty desert' as they say, even when I ask them not to."
"Were that on work then?"
"A pinch of work, a pinch of sightseeing. You know, the usual."
"You see any dragons?" Stonnie blurted out. His eyes may be maturing, his mother noted, but his mouth was regressing. She remembered fondly the little boy who loved hearing tales about the dragons and centaurs of Ellniss, the magical continent.
"Well, just once. We saw one kind of gliding overhead, didn't we, hon?"
"Ha," Radav replied scornfully. "All they ever do."
"What do you mean?" Stonnie demanded.
Yaxi rolled her eyes. "And now you've gone and set him off. Part 157 of What Radav Tanson Hates About The World."
"Forget about dragons, lad," Radav told Stonnie. "Hopeless things. Can barely even fly, for one. Body's too heavy, wings too weak. Just have to glide the whole time. Can barely even turn themselves. All that stuff about them sleeping on a heap of gold's rubbish too. We know 'cause we've looked. Cave's just full of-"
"As there's tots and parents in the room, shall we just kind of call it dragon guano," Yaxi interrupted quickly.
"An' they don't attack folks. Things are scavengers mostly. No better than coyotes. An you know what they like to eat most? Cows. Wilderbeast. Damn gnus, for Garrath's sake. Don't talk to me about dragons."
"Don't they even breath fire then?" Stonnie quavered.
"Oh aye. That's a decent trick. Don't use it much though. Don't seem to have much control over it. Just rushes out at random. That's what kills the most folk actually. Dragon accidentally breaths on them. Folks get killed 'cause a dragon burps. Says it all. Wyverns, now, they're the real business."
"What are they?"
"A kind of cousin of the dragon," Yaxi said. "They can't breath fire and they're about a tenth of the size but, oh boy, you'd better believe they've got ten times the attitude. They mostly live in the mountains of northern Ellniss. And they make travelling through those parts, well, something of an experience."
"Come at you with everything," Radav nodded approvingly. "Teeth, talons, the works. Hide up high on a ledge, leap down on you as you're going past. Lost count of the number of times we've been riding down a quiet valley, suddenly, bam, one of them little sods is on me trying to take me skull off."
"Yes, hon. Though since that one caught you right on the top of the head you've not been able to count too high, have you?"
"Do you always travel together?" Morran asked after laughing uncertainly.
"She's kind of a recent addition," Yaxi replied, indicating Zokou. "Me and apeface here have been meandering the world together for over a decade."
"Seems like longer," Radav muttered.
"And when you've got to fight stuff," Morran probed carefully, "Wyverns an'… an' suchlike. Do you both…"
"When we've got to fight, which is so more often than we want to, we both, you know, do our share."
A short, stunned silence was broken by another sotto comment from Saska and another wave of laughter from her and her sister. Morran's more restrained reaction was, "That's pretty uncommon, a woman…"
"She still does all the pansy stuff," Radav said deadpan.
"What the loving husband means," Yaxi snapped, "Is that I pick off our attackers with my bow with truly chilling accuracy. And he mops up the remains with his you-know-what substitute sword and, believe me, that really isn't much work."
"Still a man's job. More risky. Having to get up close."
"Well, I'll have to agree. Otherwise you're going to start another count-the-scars contest, aren't you, and we so don't want to do that in mixed company. 'Cause I've managed to unleash a typhoon of giggles," she added, suddenly rounding on Saska and Temes, "Just by mentioning my bow and arrows. Kind of wondering what's so funny about that. And boy, I hope it's not what I'm thinking."
The girls froze for a second, then turned to their mother for help. Her blank expression said: serves you right. Unless she turns nasty, you're on your own. "I were just…" Saska managed eventually. "I just heard… You know what you hear… About, you know… The Charlen women-" She smacked her hand over her moth. More hysterical giggles, given additional power by fear, were almost overwhelming the girls again.
"Uh-huh." Yaxi said with a straight face. "I've heard a lot about the Charlen women and, you know, haven't found much to laugh at yet. Except Radav's expression, when he hears what they do to their men."
"Just…" Saska spluttered. "Their archers… How they cut off one of their tits to-" She surrendered to the tidal wave of laughter. Yaxi waited until it had abated a little before remarking,
"You know, I guess that's a bit better than the obvious one about bows and arrows. But it must be said, a room containing a teenage boy and two men, one of who I know is a bit of a perv." She glared at Radav to make herself clear. Morran, though, noticed that Dryden suddenly jumped. "And who makes the leap straight to the boobies?" Yaxi continued. "The gals. Five generations of women's freedom fighters are screaming from their funeral urns, that's all I'm saying." She took another mouthful of potatoes and smirked at Saska and Temes.
"You ain't answered the question," Radav pointed out.
"No, that's true. Well, you remember what that Charlen gal said don't you, hon? Most of the things you hear about Charlae is just stuff other people invented. The rest is just, you know, stuff they made up themselves. Lady archers cutting off a breast… Well, we'll ignore the implied correlation between military effectiveness and defeminisation, though that so, so speaks volumes. I guess there might be a practical point. When you're firing an arrow you don't want anything, you know, bulging out and getting in the way of the bowstring. But take a look at my chest and tell me honestly if there's anything there big enough to get in the way of anything. And when I said stare at my chest, I was kind of only talking to the women present. Guys, avert your eyes."
Radav, the only one not staring dumbstruck at at least one part of Yaxi, asked mildly, "What, even me?"
"Well, take an ogle if you really want, hon. Though if you still need to look after all these years, there's something seriously wrong with either your vision or your memory."
"Wouldn't be surprised. Blow to the head from a wyvern, remember?"
Saska and Temes vanished as soon as the meal was over. Their interest in the guests was clearly confined to mocking them. Now Yaxi had made this impossible to their faces, the girls preferred to retire to their room to continue. Morran supposed it possible they might actually do their homework too at some point. She tried encouraging Stonnie to do likewise. When finally prised from the table, though, he announced that he had to go out.
"My warehouse needs me," he claimed. "They need someone to do a few hours on the evening shift."
"Oh ay," Morran said as she noisily cleared the table. "Then bake me a cake while you're there 'cause I were only born yesterday."
"It's true!"
"Any chance of you doing your school work any time?"
"I done it all."
"Yeah, right."
Stonnie jumped up somewhat melodramatically. "Don't believe me then. You never do. Anyway," he added, pointing at the Tansons, "I bet they never bothered with schoolwork."
"Yeah, not to sort of take sides in a domestic," Yaxi said, "But if you start modelling yourself on us, boy, you've got problems."
"But you've had great lives."
"What were we talking about earlier, hon?" Yaxi asked her husband. "Sleeping in ditches, being attacked by wyverns and getting lost in the Great Ellniss Desert. They weren't a whole load of laughs at the time, were they?"
"I weren't chuckling much," Radav confirmed.
"Hey!" Zokou exclaimed. "You kept telling me we weren't lost in that desert."
"Not with you, Zok," Yaxi said. "But the first time, on our own… Boy, we were going round and round like a spinning top. And as we were we kept saying, oh how I wish I paid attention to geography at school."
"Aye," Radav nodded. "That an' 'water, water!'"
Morran retreated to do the washing up. She tended to store a water tub in a corner niche so that she could retreat. It was a useful trick when she felt the need for a temporary withdrawal. Extract herself from the room under the cover of a necessary task until her strength could be mustered again. When she turned back ground, the guests were huddled on the flimsy, uncomfortable sofa. Dryden was sat in his favourite armchair, still silent, still contributing nothing. Stonnie had vanished, almost certainly to loiter on street corners with his friends once more. If his father had extracted any promises of return times before he left, Morran hadn't heard him. She eyed Dryden sourly as she lowered herself into her own favourite chair, drying her hands on her apron. He didn't need any excuses to retreat, she though. He just goes, and you can't reach him again until it pleases him.
"Sorry about Stonnie," she told the Tansons, having rehearsed this opener in her head for the past few minutes. "He shouldn't have just assumed you dropped out of school early. Most folks around here do, that's all."
"Well, he was kind of part true," Yaxi smiled. "Zokou here's still doing her studies."
"Whether I want to or not," the girl murmured.
"And Radav's school put up with him till he was seventeen, didn't they?"
"They were desperate."
"And how. But for me, puberty and schooling didn't, you know, coincide."
"Right." Morran paused, then asked, "That because of you getting taken from your home?"
"No, that came a bit of a while later. It was 'cause of the much cheerier factor of horrible, horrible poverty. As in, nobody in my family could kind of afford to eat. So I dropped out and got a job as soon as the law let me or, frankly, somewhat earlier. Then there were a few years spent in, 'cause this was East Zabrial and 'cause clichés kind of are true sometimes, a fish gutting factory. Believe me, getting kidnapped was almost a relief at first."
Morran blinked. Yaxi had already hinted at that, of course. But hearing the word first spoken was still a shock. Trying to make light of it, she asked Radav, "Weren't by you, were it?"
Yaxi laughed. "See, hon, you've clearly built a reputation as a guy who prowls the ports nabbing young girls. I hope you can live with that."
"Better than her thinking me a pansy," Radav said.
"There's probably a way to combine the two. Radav didn't grab me," she told Morran. "He was sort of the guy who saved me, actually."
"From who?"
Yaxi was silent for a moment. Morran was about to apologise for the question when she began, "Well, you know how the guys in government sometimes promise how they're gonna kick the asses of the pirates who prey on the ports? The ones who launch the lightning raids to burn down houses or grab helpless people. No? You hear the speeches more on the coast, I guess, and less than you used to. Could be that the government finally stopped talking and finally, you know, kicked some ass. Anyway, the guys who got me were part of the reason why those speeches were made."
It took Morran a minute to interpret this and another to truly believe it. "You were kidnapped by pirates?" she whispered. "In East Zabrial?"
"Yeah, it never happened too often there," Yaxi said easily. "They mainly stuck to the towns in Ellniss where the protection's often, you know, non-existent. Probably still do, actually. When they hit the Christotan coast it was usually the teensy-weensy isolated fishing villages. But sometimes they got cocky and had a go at East Zab. And I've got to say, my mom knew they did and that's why she told me to never go to the docks at night and sure never go alone. And did I listen? Did I, as they say round here, heckers like."
Morran hesitated again. But she felt the other side of Yaxi turning disclosure into a game. Anything could be asked. If the Zabric woman didn't want to answer she would simply joke it aside. She wouldn't, Morran believed, ever get offended or upset. "So they just… grabbed you? An' took you away?"
"Yup."
"You were a slave?"
"Well, I was never actually sold on the slave markets. Which do, by the way, so still exist, whatever we've been told. Not sure why. I guess my guys just wanted to keep me."
"What did they do with you?" Morran asked, unable to stop herself.
"Well, now, picture the situation," Yaxi replied in a quieter voice. "We've got a bunch of guys out at sea for months on end. Guys who, shall we say, are kind of not over-burdened in the morals ledger. And one of their possessions is a helpless fifteen year old girl. What do you think they, you know, used her for?"
Zokou stood up abruptly. They had forgotten she was there; a girl only a teenager herself and still learning the Tansons' style. "I'm off home," she said awkwardly. "I mean, I'm really beat. Thanks for the meal it was-"
"Hey, it's OK, Zok," Yaxi said, turning instantly. "Sorry. We're done talking about this now. We're done, right?" she asked Morran.
"Sure. Definite. Sorry," Morran also told Zokou. "Nosy cow here. You'll get used to it."
Zokou managed a shy smile and sat down again slowly. "No, it's… I've heard this before, that's all, and it's… At least hear the happy ending."
"Happy ending?"
"That'll be me," Radav said.
"Oh yeah," Yaxi smiled. "Him. Well, these pirates, yeah? Raiding and pillaging with impunity, if that's the word I mean. So they're the biggest psychos on the seas, right? Nope. There were headbangers even more whacked out who actually preyed on the pirates. And I don't mean government ships, I mean sort of freelancers. They figured, these pirates may be tooled up to the eyeballs but at least no-one'll miss them. Which I guess makes sense if your mom, you know, dropped you on your head when you were a baby. That's what the Eastern Ocean's like and when guys call it the Civilised Sea, I laugh so, so hard. Anyway, when my hero here was about twenty he couldn't find anything better to do then join a boat of these headbangers. And one day they hit my pirates. I guess they knew what they were doing 'cause they took them apart pretty quickly though, it should be said, not into as many parts as I'd have liked. Anyway, that's how I got released."
"Bloody hell," Morran whispered, and asked Radav, "You find many captives on these pirate ships?"
"Aye, a fair few. We'd take 'em home if we could, otherwise to the nearest port. We kept all the treasure, mind."
"Well, duh," Yaxi rolled her eyes. "That was kind of the point of the whole exercise, wasn't it?"
"But were you looking for Yaxi this time?"
"We were strangers till he, you know, dragged me out of the hold. That's how we met." They exchanged a rare look of genuine love and Radav said,
"That's how we saved each other."
Morran frowned at him. "She saved you an' all."
"Aye. Course. Till I met her I were nowt but a headbanger who hit bloody pirate ships for fun. She gave me purpose."
True or not? Morran wondered. If they were fantasists, though, they were the most skilful ones she had ever met. They told their tales in precisely the same way most people relate accounts of their lives. In a self-mocking, self-depreciating way which always downplayed the heroic. They hadn't fought dragons. They had seen a dragon, that was all, and didn't think much of it. They had only fought the stunted cousin of a dragon. And Morran noted that they hadn't even claimed to have actually killed a wyvern. They had just been attacked by them. As the evening progressed they continued to offer scraps of stories in the same manner. Only after prompting and always in accounts laced by pragmatism and in-jokes.
Morran wanted to believe them. And not simply because the alternative was that she was sharing a building with three advanced schizophrenics. It would be nice if all fairy tales, which tended to depict heroes as either braggarts or saints, could be wrong. Heroes should be ordinary people who just had a little more courage and a lot more sense than most. Who, moreover, didn't believe in their own surfeit of bravery but were certain about their lack of sense. Who could be charming and modest and were secretive simply because this was more fun than boasting. Ordinary people with the inner strength to survive ordeals as horrific as Yaxi's experience with the pirates – the one part which Morran hoped wasn't true.
Really, though, she would have wanted to believe them however they behaved. Even if they were breathing clichés, she would wish them to be true heroes. For the same reason why Stonnie couldn't quite relinquish his childhood fascination with dragons. Probably why, too, Morran was adopting Zesheyek's predicament with such enthusiasm. There had to be more to life. More to the world than the grey, claustrophobic confines of Jakks Way. She knew that there was and yet couldn't find the courage herself to seek it out. So she wanted to trust these emissaries who had come to her and spoke of lands where everything was both brighter and darker.
Dryden barely said anything for the rest of the evening. Morran wasn't sure if he slept either, after their guests had left and they went to bed. As she drifted into slumber herself she sensed him lying rigid beside her, still staring into space. She knew she ought to at least try and find out what was wrong. That too would belong to the greyness, however. Some imagined slight or rumour of redundancies. At worst, the onset of one of his trivial little bursts of depression. Nothing concerning her husband ever seemed important. So she fell to sleep thinking of the Tansons and dreamed about fighting dragons.