Chasers of the Wind

by Alexey Pehov

  “No. With that, praise Melot, everything is as it should be.”

  We went downstairs. There were still only two torches burning in the shop. Jola was ignoring us and muttering curses under her breath, laying out her fortune-telling cards on the table for the hundredth time that day. And the Blazog was attending his own business, too—he was pulling a hefty sword from the back of a dead man. Another corpse was lying under the Je’arre’s table. As far as I could tell in the gloom, he had been split by a single powerful blow from his collarbone to the middle of his chest. A whole lake of blood was flowing out of him.

  “Guests?” I inquired politely.

  Jola launched into a series of shrill imprecations, which placed primary emphasis on the mothers who gave birth to the bastards that dared attack her shop.

  “Are these on your souls or on ours?” Layen was watching as the Blazog wiped his sword on the clothes of the dead man lying by the door.

  “Don’t worry, Layen. There’s absolutely no kvonnection to you.” Ktatak laughed. “This kvouple of children of fish decided to tickvale my partner’s feathers. And at the same time as their little prankva, they were kvoinkva to make a profit.”

  “The damned bastards!” confirmed the Je’arre without looking up from her cards. “May the skies fall upon their rotten families. May their children’s eyes dry up. May maggots devour their despicable guts alive!”

  “That’s the right approach,” agreed the swamp dweller, not hiding his sarcasm. “Why didn’t you tell them that to their faces when they were still alive?”

  “You stole my chance, you leech!” Jola snorted irritably and finally put her cards aside. “I didn’t have time to open my mouth before you swatted them like mosquitoes from your swamp!”

  Ktatak laughed deep in his chest.

  “You did your work quietly,” I said in a low voice. “I see your grip is as strong and quick as ever, you old trunk.”

  “I take pride in the praise of a master.” He stretched his lips into a smile.

  It wasn’t all that difficult to imagine what went on here. The two men obviously weren’t from the neighborhood, nor did they make their living as professional evaders of the law, otherwise they would have found themselves some friendlier victims. The lads were just eager to get their hands on a Je’arre. If they weren’t blinded by the torch hanging by the stairs and saw the winged woman, then it’s unlikely they had time to take note of Ktatak hiding in the gloom. So they’d stumbled right by him. I wondered if they had any idea who it was that jumped out at them?

  Trying not to step in the blood that was seeping along the floor, Layen walked over to the door and lowered the latch.

  “That’s right, girl,” said Jola approvingly. “If another dozen stop by, I’ll be cleaning the floor for the rest of my life.”

  “Since when do you mop the floors, chickvadee? I’m always the one doinkva it,” said Ktatak indignantly.

  “Stuff it, you leech.”

  “What are you going to do with the bodies?” asked Layen.

  “That’s our business. Don’t worry your pretty little head. Are you leaving?”

  “We’d like to.”

  “Go out through the back door.” The flyer had buried her nose in the cards once more. “Ktatak, show them the way. Then you can take care of these bodies. They’re not going anywhere.”

  Layen kissed the Je’arre on the cheek. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Not at all, Weasel. Not at all. I was happy to help.” For the first time since their conversation began, Jola smiled. “Take care of yourself. And good luck.”

  The Blazog brought a quiver full of arrows and a bow out of the darkness—it was an exact copy of the one I’d had before. Four curves, composite, black. A good weapon.

  “Nicely done. Just what I needed.” I endorsed his choice, carefully examining the merchandise.

  Ktatak grunted in embarrassment and quickly said, “I’m just sorry for the arrows. I don’t know how to choose the right ones.”

  “It’s okay,” I comforted him. “I’ll manage.”

  “Takva your sorens.” He handed Layen her pack. “We kvan’t answer for their safety. We’ll be out of here any minute now.”

  “Farewell, Jola.”

  “Until we meet again, Gray. Until then.” She didn’t even raise her head from the cards.

  We walked behind the Blazog, passing through a succession of half-lit rooms, brimming with bales and boxes. It’s hard to believe they’d sent off all their goods. To me it looked like there was still something here that could turn a profit. Disorder prevailed all around, and no one was planning to contend with it. In one place the floor was strewn with reels of expensive multicolored Sdisian thread. The dust in the room shone in the rays of the evening sun, which was peeking through one of the windows.

  Finally, Ktatak stopped at a door, removed the dead bolt, inserted a beautiful key into the keyhole, unlocked it, and looked out.

  “All kvalear. Kvo through the backvayard, to the right of the pikvasty. There’s a kvate there. There’s a kvey under the tile with a frokva painted on it. Don’t forkvet to put it backva. Then kvo alonkva the alleyway, it’ll lead you right to the harbor. I hope fate will brinkva us backva tokvether again. May Kvagun help you.”

  “The god of the Blazogs is unlikely to pay attention to humans.”

  The swamp dweller smiled. “If the kvod of the Je’arre kvan kvome to you in the fortune-telling kvards, why kvan’t my kvod look after my friends?”

  “That reminds me! Do me a favor?”

  I told him about Stallion. I had no need of the horse now, but I didn’t want to leave him to the innkeeper.

  “Okvay. I’ll put your horse in kvood hands. Farewell.”

  We walked outside and the door slammed behind us.

  “You got the Thief?” inquired Layen curiously.

  “Yes,” I replied, studying the backyard. “Is it important?”

  “No. I’m just curious. As far as I recall Jola’s tales, that card is very rare, and even if you come across it, it doesn’t affect the spread.”

  “It affected the Je’arre’s spread today.”

  “That’s why I’m curious. It’s too bad I didn’t get a chance to talk to her about it.”

  “What for?” I shrugged. “The flyer said that the spread was incorrect. You know that. She made a mistake.”

  In truth, I didn’t really think that. I was very disturbed by the Fool and the five Deaths that formed a circle. You didn’t have to be all that clever a man to look at that and see the six Damned, one of whom, by some miracle, had survived and seized the body of a village idiot.

  * * *

  The western region of the city, which was laid out just beyond the community of the Je’arre, adjacent to the sea, was called Haven, or simply the harbor. It stretched along the shore of the huge bay, gradually growing wider and subsuming into itself the smaller neighborhoods of Whitehand and Eunuchtown. Now Haven rivaled the city’s largest district, Midtown, in terms of size. Right now we were north of the port, in a neighborhood of wealthy artisans. The streets here were quite wide and clean, so you didn’t have to flinch away from trash on the street or dread being doused with slops from above. But the tidy, low houses with white walls were depressing. They were so repetitious and identical that it made you want to hang yourself. There is no way I’d want to live in a place like this. I’d much prefer the riotous streets of Eunuchtown, the cheerful bedlam of the docks, or the quiet calm of the Gardens.

  Unlike Birdtown, Haven was bustling with life. The servants of the law all ignored my bow. In liberal Al’sgara, as opposed to the capital of the Empire, Corunna, there was no ban on weapons. Not in Haven, at any rate. Many men wore daggers on their belts.

  “We ought to take a look at the port,” I said, casting a glance at the street leading to the docks.

  “We don’t have time.” Layen shook her head. “It’ll get dark soon.”

  “You’re right. So today we have
Mols. We can deal with the rest tomorrow.”

  My sun smiled and took my hand. “How about some pastries?”

  I smiled back at her. “I wouldn’t refuse.”

  We smelled the scent of bread long before we saw the baker’s shop. The magnificent aroma of fresh baked goods wafted along the entirety of Old Coin Alley. I thought the sign, which was shaped like a pretzel, was completely unnecessary. A blind man could find where bread was being sold. The trays were stuffed with goods, but there were few customers—it was late, and everyone who wanted to had already made their purchases. The fools. In their place, I would have been squirreling away breadcrumbs. When the siege began, prices would soar sky-high, and goods would disappear within a few days. Then they’d be sorry they didn’t increase their food reserves whenever possible.

  There were two people behind the counter. They looked dashing, like they should have been aboard a pirate ship, not behind a counter. I didn’t know them.

  “What would you like?”

  “A doughnut and a crescent roll with cinnamon.”

  I laid out small change and handed the doughnut to Layen, who immediately sank her teeth into it.

  “Anything else?”

  “Call Mols.”

  They immediately tensed.

  “We don’t know anyone of that name.”

  “Search your memory.” My rude words did not correspond to my polite smile.

  Layen was busy with her doughnut, pretending not to follow the conversation.

  “You’re mistaken,” said one of the bakers dully. “There’s no Mols here.”

  “Of course.” I was not about to argue. “His real name is quite different.”

  “It’d be best if you left.” Now the face of the thug nearest to us was radiating “goodwill.”

  His companion drew a knife out from behind the counter. “Be off with you. We’re up to our necks in work.”

  I sighed in disappointment, took out my utak, saw that these fools were ready to fling themselves at us, and with a disarming smile tossed the axe onto the counter.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” The one with the knife frowned. “Have you decided to give up?”

  “No, he just doesn’t want to crack your empty skulls,” Layen answered for me, having finally finished her doughnut. Without asking, she took a crescent roll from the nearest tray. “Which of you is smartest? Take what you’ve been given and go look for Mols. When you find him, show him the weapon. We’ll wait.”

  “There is no Mols here! Get out of here or we’ll call the watch!” The baker with the blade was standing his ground.

  “What’s your name?” I asked softly, in no hurry to leave.

  “What’s it to you?” he snapped.

  “Well, if Mols should ask me why I didn’t come to the meeting, I need to tell him something.”

  That made them stop and think. If I was speaking the truth, they wouldn’t get a pat on the back for not letting us in.

  “Fine.” The husky one finally made up his mind and took the utak. “Wait here. If you’re lying, I’ll rip you a new one.”

  “Don’t get bent out of shape too soon, little boy.” Layen smiled. “Just do what you were put here for.”

  He cast her a spiteful glance full of promises, muttered to his comrade not to take his eyes off us, and disappeared into the depths of the shop. I had a free minute so I took a bite from the pastry I’d bought. Layen had finished before me and grabbed another bun from the tray. As I understood it, just to annoy the man.

  “Are you going to pay for that?” he spat.

  “I doubt old Mols will begrudge us some crumbs. His good friends shouldn’t die of hunger.” She grinned.

  “Good friends, huh?” muttered the thug, but he didn’t utter another word about payment, wisely deciding that he should wait for his comrade to come back and clarify the situation.

  A customer entered, and the lad quickly hid his weapon under the counter. He was clearly nervous while he served the client, even though we were behaving ourselves. At that moment the second baker came back—without the utak, but with a sour face. He caught the inquisitive glance of his coworker and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  “Come with me. They’re waiting for you,” he told us reluctantly.

  We followed him and found ourselves in a long corridor.

  “You see, kid, everything worked out just fine,” Layen teased him.

  He flinched and hissed, “I don’t know who you are, but you shouldn’t annoy me.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind, kid, oh yes I will.” Layen turned to me and winked cheerfully. I made an upset face so that she’d stop taunting the fool. Why the stupid game? She stuck out her tongue at me in reply.

  We walked into an interior yard, which had not changed at all over the years. Except that the trees were much taller than they had been before. The bakery was to our left, and we tramped along a neatly swept path through a small orchard to a nice three-story house. It wasn’t visible from the street, and many of the inhabitants of this part of Al’sgara would have been quite surprised to find out how their bakers lived.

  Four men were standing by the entrance, near which torches were lit. This was the first time I had seen something like this here as well. It seems there had been quite a few changes over the past seven years. New people all over the place. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, got up from the grass and walked over to us.

  “Now then.” The broad-shouldered man smiled. “Gimme your bow. Me and my friends gotta search you. Just so we have an understanding. Don’t want no disagreements.”

  The threesome remaining on the grass got to their feet as if on command.

  “I’ll check the wench,” quickly offered the kid who’d led us.

  “She’ll tear off your arms, Luga,” said a mocking voice.

  A red-faced, heavyset man stood by the door. He had immense, shaggy sideburns that melded into an untidy salt-and-pepper beard. A leather vest was thrown over his bare and, despite his advanced age, muscular torso. He wore short pants that stopped at the knee, a wide belt with a silver belt buckle in the shape of a snarling wolf’s muzzle, and a curved Sdisian dagger in an expensive sheath. In his left hand he was casually holding my axe. His thick lips were smiling, but his brown eyes were watchful. He anticipated a trick from us at any moment. He was paying special attention to Layen.

  “Hi, Stump.” My sunshine greeted him first.

  “Hello, hello. How was your trip?”

  “Successful.”

  “I don’t see your escort. Where did you lose them?”

  “They had a bit of bad luck,” I replied.

  Our questioner was no longer smiling.

  “Stump.” The broad-shouldered man jumped into the conversation. “Should we look for them?”

  “Shut up,” snapped Stump, and that order worked on Mols’s people like the crack of a whip. “Bad luck,” he said, as if savoring the words. “All of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Whip bite off more than he could chew?” Nasty undertones had slipped into his voice. Stump was friends with my old acquaintance. Simply put, they were like brothers.

  “No. He really was unlucky. He ran into a clever Nabatorian.”

  “A pity.” It was unclear whether he believed me or not. “Midge and Bamut as well?”

  “Not quite.” Layen looked him in the eye. “They did bite off more than they could chew.”

  “Oh,” he said slowly. “That’s a shame. They were good people.”

  “Beyond a shadow of a doubt.” I was uncommonly serious.

  “The Abyss take me!” suddenly cried out the one who was called Luga. “Gray!”

  This announcement made quite the impression on the thugs surrounding us. They all finally made the connection between the mysterious absence of Whip, Midge, and Bamut, the utak in Stump’s hands, and the arrival of a man and a woman.

  Now they were looking at us with wide eyes, and Luga stepped as far away as p
ossible from Layen. It was obvious that he now took Stump’s words about having his limbs torn off in a literal sense. When she’d been working, Weasel didn’t have a reputation for being the calmest person in Al’sgara.

  “You’re too quick on the uptake,” said Stump in a deceptively quiet voice. “It bodes you no good, you get me?”

  The kid went paler than before. “Yes.”

  “I know that the temptation to gossip about this on every street corner is very great, just as is the desire to earn a few sorens, but before you open your mouth, think about this. You still need to get the money; Joch is far away, but I’m close. And your family, too. You’re a smart lad, aren’t you?” asked the red-faced Giiyan insinuatingly.

  “I’m not going to talk.”

  “That’s nice. Go away. Be about your business. My warning goes for all of you. I hope no one here thinks that ten thousand sorens is better than my displeasure and family troubles? That’s wonderful. Gell, you’re responsible for your lads’ heads.”

  “We won’t talk idly. You know that,” said the broad-shouldered one resentfully.

  “I know. Gray, Weasel, come into the house.”

  “You’re harsh with them,” I said once we were inside.

  “There’s no other way.”

  “You don’t think that such treatment might do harm?”

  “Nonsense!” spat Stump. “They know that I bark often, but I bite only when I have to.”

  “You don’t bite. You rend.”

  He chuckled softly and returned my utak, warning me just in case, “Be good.”

  It was already rather dark outside, and candles were lit inside the house. The expensive burgundy rug lying on the floor muffled our footsteps. Stump stopped by a set of double doors and shoved them open.

  “In you go.”

  The room was large and brightly lit by candles, which were standing on a large table covered by a white tablecloth.

  We heard three soft handclaps. A tall middle-aged woman was applauding us. She had a pleasant face, a large mouth, and a strong jaw. Her graying hair was hidden under a white starched cap. Her clothing was simple, one could even say modest. Looking at her, the sweet and kind mistress of a bakery, you would never think you were seeing the head of the southern guild of Giiyans and one of the most influential people in the criminal world of Al’sgara. She who took the name of Mols. Only a select few, who could be counted on the fingers of both hands, had ever seen her. She always preferred to stay in the shadows, communicating with all those who worked for her through Stump. And he tried his best to make sure that everyone believed Mols was a man. Even people in the know, while talking with one another, preferred to speak of Mols as a he. It was more familiar, and much less dangerous.