by Bob Marx
* * *
Mas didn’t care to argue with the old man. Last night’s excesses still plagued him. His head ached, his stomach felt queasy, and his tongue was having a difficult time finding a comfortable position in his mouth. He asked again, “Do you have them or not? It’s an easy question.”
“They’re not here,” said the old man. “Joey said the lady had been in to pick them up. But even if we still had them, why would we give them to you?”
“She asked me to pick them up, that’s why. Listen, you know me, you know I’m Jasin Elstrada’s friend…well Elizabeth is living with them now. She’s their new housekeeper. I promised to get them for her.”
The old man shrugged. “They’re not here. I can’t give you what I don’t have.”
“Then, you’d better find them. I’ll be back this afternoon.”
Mas left the cutlery and turned to head back home. He had decided that it would be better to be sick at home than on the street. He hadn’t taken more than a dozen steps when a hand grabbed his arm him from behind. Reacting, Mas twirled around and sent a teenage boy flying with a powerful swipe of his arm.
“Are you trying to kill me?” complained the kid. He rose slowly from his crumpled position.
“Don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone, Joey? Why’d you lie about giving the knives to Elizabeth?”
“You’re a moron, you know that Mas? A total moron. I’m trying to help you and you nearly kill me.”
“Kill you? You aren’t hurt a bit, but if you don’t come up with Elizabeth’s knives in the next few seconds, I’ll see what I can do to remedy that.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Try again.”
“Listen, I don’t have them, but I have something better. Come here.” Joey backed up into the small alley between the knife shop and the building next door. Mas hesitated, but Joey pleaded, “Come on, what do you think I’m going to do. Let me show you.”
Mas looked around. There were only a few people in the street, but no one within a block. He tried to look nonchalant as he stepped into the narrow space, but as he did, the boy reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife. Before the boy could say another word, Mas had grabbed him by the neck and twisted the knife from his hand.
“You’re dumber than you look,” Mas exclaimed. The youngster’s eyes bulged out and he gasped for air.
“You’re the idiot,” he wheezed. “Let me go!”
Mas tossed him to the ground and kneeled on his chest. He leaned close to Joey’s face and hissed, “If you ever pull a knife on me again I’ll use it to make you a girl, understand? What were you thinking?”
“Get off me and I’ll tell you.”
Mas straightened, allowing the boy to rise. Joey’s eyes found the knife lying in the dirt, but as he reached for it, Mas pinned his hand to the ground with a muddy boot. Mas leaned down and removed the weapon. It was a very thin stiletto with a blade a couple centimeters across and fifteen centimeters long. It weighed practically nothing, and the edge was perfectly honed. “Where’d you find this?” Mas asked, continuing to examine the greenish-blue instrument. The handle was gracefully wrapped in black leather that had been tooled with an unusual intricate design.
“Elizabeth said she liked her knives sharp…I thought she might appreciate it. I thought…”
“You thought you might impress her. Listen to me you rodent, she’s way out of your league, and there’s a city full of better men in line before you. Where’d you get this?”
“No reason she and I couldn’t—”
“Where did you get this?” Mas asked again, punctuating each word.
“None of your business.”
“I’m making it my business. Now, answer me. Where did you get this knife?”
“I traded her knives for it. Had to throw in a little extra on the side too. It’s special. Never needs to be sharpened. Probably put us out of business if there were more of them, but I haven’t seen another like it.”
“Because it’s probably illegal. It’s a weapon.”
“Says who?”
“It’s certainly no kitchen knife.”
Joey shrugged, “When does a kitchen knife become a weapon? Who’s to say?”
Mas hefted it. “That would be up to Jasin or Beloit. You could get in trouble for just having this on you. You know the Prohibitions. The Sytonians could kill you for dealing in this sort of thing. Trust me. If you don’t want to get Elizabeth into trouble, you won’t be giving it to her or selling knives like this to anyone else.” Mas grabbed Joey’s shirt, and with a single slash, cut off a large piece of cloth, which he used to wrap the knife.
“Mas…I’m out a lot for that thing. I need it back or you’ll have to cover me.”
“Listen, I’m not feeling well enough to deal with your nonsense.”
“Two green...I’m out two green.”
“You paid with crystals?”
“That’s what the trader wanted—two plus all her knives.”
“You are a fool. All that just to get yourself into trouble.” Mas shook his head. “Isn’t love grand?” He pulled his pouch from his pants and dug out two green and a couple of larger meita. “I’ll figure out how to get rid of it. Now go inside and get me a bunch of new kitchen knives—enough to replace what Elizabeth left here. I’ll tell her that hers wouldn’t take an edge any longer.”
Joey ran into the shop and returned with the new knives. “These are the best we have.”
Mas rubbed his forehead as if that would lift the dull ache from his pickled brain. Mas took the knives. “Don’t ever talk about this to anyone, understand?”
Joey nodded weakly.
