Sicilian Defense

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “Welcome on board, Thane,” the captain said with a nod. “We’re going to set sail in a minute, and then you’ll hear the whole story—don’t worry. Frory, how can you point to buttons on this warrior? Not to mention his pockets. He doesn’t even have pockets!”

  “But…well…he…” the very small and fiery-red Frory replied. “So what?”

  He spun on his heel and walked away from us along the deck.

  “Always vigilant,” the captain said with a smile. “He’s itching to catch a spy.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows?” The captain shrugged. “That’s just his little quirk.”

  It took another half hour to finish loading the ship, so I had time to explore it from stem to stern. It was your typical 19th-century steamboat, complete with a coal furnace and a small wheel at the back—the kind of ship that might have plied the Mississippi carrying Tom Sawyer and a black band.

  The horn blared, the sound nearly deafening me; the crowd on the pier waved their beards and hands; and I sang to myself the kind of song they used to see ships off with. Or trains, maybe. Either way, we’re off—thank God!

  Things got around to me a full hour later. There wasn’t anywhere to go, so I just sprawled out in the bow of the ship to watch the scenery go by. The stone walls on either side were beautiful, and there were startled bats fluttering around.

  “You’re going to get tired of all that awfully quick,” an older gentleman wearing a leather jacket over chainmail said as he walked up to me. “It’s all the same, mile after mile, there and back. And you have to sit there and watch it six hours a day.”

  “Are you a guard, too?” I asked him.

  “Something like that. I’m the head of security for this ship, and for the next three days, your commander.” He held out his hand. “Maximus van Fain, but you can call me Max.”

  “Hagen,” I replied succinctly. “How is it here? The money’s good? How’s the work? Nothing too bad, I hope?”

  “It’s different every time, and probably not what you’re used to.” Max squatted down next to me. “We don’t have to lug anything around, but you do have to put in the work when it’s there to do. After all, whether you’re getting your food today depends entirely on you. Have you been in a battle before?”

  “A time or two,” I replied gravely.

  “If you’re telling the truth, that’s great.” Max squinted at me. “We’ll see soon enough.”

  “You think we’ll definitely get into a fight?”

  “It’s been that way recently,” Max confirmed. “There are a lot of drogters out there these days. They didn’t use to come around during the winter, but now they have everything locked down. They say there are even drows now. That can’t be good, let me tell you.”

  “Drows?” I asked in surprise.

  I hadn’t even heard of them being in the game. Sure, there were dark elves, and I’d read about them in all the manuals, but they were dark elves, specifically. There was a difference between dark elves and drows—that was something they all highlighted. Dark elves were active during the day, they weren’t evil at all, and they didn’t go off and worship some spider or other. They just looked darker than the light elves, who were paler and better-looking. Sort of gothic elves. But what we were up against was drows. And that was news.

  “Yep. Nobody’s seen them since the Second War of Hatred, since the Battle of Two Armies.” Max got up, blew his nose over the side of the ship, pulled a horn inlaid with silver out of his belt, and blew into it.

  The horn let out a long, lingering sound, and it was followed by rushing feet.

  “Wait, wait,” I said, my forehead wrinkled, “since what battle?”

  “Were you just born yesterday?” Max laughed quickly. “A thousand years ago, even more, the last battle between Light and Dark was held on Rydell Field, on the other bank of the Crisna—a river in the West. The powers of Light, obviously, won, and the Dark side was defeated. Ever since then, nobody’s seen drows, dark dwarves, works of Darkness, or dancing demons. Even the drogters disappeared for a long time. But then suddenly two dwarves disappeared. And then we found them, their ribs splayed, their heads scorched and impaled on spears, and words written in blood on the walls next to their remains. Par for the course when it comes to drows.

  “Maybe someone was trying to make it look like drows?” I asked dubiously.

  “Why?” Max stared at me. “What would the point of that be?”

  By that time, the rest of the guards had formed up on the deck, so Max gave me a quick nod to let me know that we’d finish our conversation later. He stuck his thumbs into his belt and started talking.

  “Well, warriors, we’re finally underway. You all know me, so I don’t have to tell you anything about myself. I will remind you of the basics out here, however: it’s a three-day trip, and we need two guards on deck at all times—one at the bow, one at the stern. We’ll work on six-hour shifts, so I think you’ll all have three of them. For newcomers and old hands alike, let me remind you: anything that looks out of the ordinary, anything you see that worries you, be that movement among the rocks, a sudden rockslide, an echo, or a drumbeat, is reason to sound the alarm. Let me know immediately what’s going on, day or night. Does anyone have any preferences as far as watch schedules go?”

  “Yes,” I quickly announced, “I do!”

  If it hadn’t been for the party scheduled the next day, there may not have been. But I’d promised…

  “I’d like one today, starting right now, one tomorrow morning, and the next day during the morning as well. Say, starting at ten.”

  I would definitely be waking up with a hangover, so I worried that the capsule wouldn’t let me into the game that day. Who knows how much I’ll drink?

  “Oh, aren’t you clever,” Max said, looking at me ironically.

  “Come on, Captain,” a warrior with a gray mustache said. “Why not? This is his first time in the caves—we don’t mind, do we, boys?”

  The rest of the guards said something about how they didn’t. Interesting—they like new blood.

  “Then you got it.” Max came over to me. “You’ll start now, so your watch will end at six tonight. They use an hourglass marking every half hour here to keep it simple. Tomorrow you’ll start at eight, and then the next day… Well, I’ll tell you that tomorrow—we have to live that long first. Tomorrow we’ll be in the Cold Caves, and they could screw up everyone’s schedule.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the threshold of a time very well spent.

  Given my inexperience, I was positioned at the stern, with an experienced guard named Johnny Tray at the bow. He had made the trip many times, and the first thing he did was take his boots off and place them by the side of the boat.

  “Feet need to breathe.”

  “And you think we don’t?” Max shot back resentfully. “Every time with you it’s the same thing. Why did you ever start doing that?”

  Johnny smiled snidely, paused for a second, wiggled his toes, and responded.

  “You know very well that a sage once told me that. He said I’d live longer if I let my feet breathe.”

  “He was lying,” Max assured him. “It’s just a good thing we’re all nice people here; if you took those off anywhere else, you’d get your head bashed in.”

  Johnny laughed and headed toward the bow, leaving moist tracks behind him.

  “I’m so tired of him and his legs,” Max complained as he walked toward me. “But there’s no reasoning with him!”

  “Eh, whatever,” I grunted. “At least he’s airing his feet out up here, and not down below deck. We’ll all suffocate to death if he tries that in the cabin. Although, at least the mosquitos will die, too, if there are any.”

  “That’s the only good thing about it,” Max sighed. “Okay, keep both eyes open. Torsty, the dwarf, will up to replace you in six hours. You saw him. And don’t oversleep tomorrow—I’ll have your hide and fine you for it if you do.”

/>   “I won’t,” I promised. “By the way, why is the whole guard made up of humans? There’s only one dwarf.”

  Max cracked his knuckles.

  “That, my friend, is because they don’t care about us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly that. Was the mayor overjoyed to talk to you?”

  “Yes, I was surprised.”

  “Exactly. That’s because if we get into a battle, your head will be rolling first rather than some dwarf’s. He cares about dwarf heads, but not ours. There aren’t many people looking to sail to the Crystal Lake these days, we get attacked pretty much every trip, and so every new guard is a welcome guest in the city. You protected the life of some dwarf from Malakh-Targak who would otherwise have had to take your spot. We still sail even when there aren’t people looking to make the trip, after all. The city is built on trade, and it would disappear if it lost this route.”

  “Wow, that’s awfully nice of them,” I replied, shaking my head. “I guess it makes sense though, especially since they’re not trying to trick anyone into doing anything, and they pay good gold.”

  “Yes, they pay.” Max smiled skeptically. “But that’s only if you live long enough to see payday. If you don’t, the gold goes right back into their coffers.”

  “I don’t need it if I’m dead, do I?” I objected. “What does it matter?”

  Max sighed.

  “They could give it to the person’s family, which would make life easier for them,” he replied after pausing for a few silent moments.

  “Okay, so put that in the contract next time. What’s the problem?” I was surprised at the simplicity of the clearly intelligent warrior. “And if they say no, go on strike.”

  Max looked at me as if I was a child.

  “They’re dwarves, you can’t tell them what to do. It won’t work—we’ve tried. And I’ve thought about going on strike.”

  “Then I’m not sure,” I said, giving in. “Have them give you a 40% advance, and then everyone can pool it. Everyone’s who’s still alive at the end of the trip can split that amount evenly. And whoever has a family should let you know where they live beforehand.”

  Max scratched his forehead and looked at me.

  “You’re not as much of a fool as you look. That’s not a bad idea. Okay, keep an eye out—you know what to watch for. If anything happens, signal right away.”

  “How am I supposed to signal?” I’d been wondering that for a while. “Should I whistle or just yell something about all hands on deck?”

  “No, it’s easy: there’s a bell right there, and all you have to do is ring it.”

  Max pointed at a construction on the deck that featured copper plates bolted to it, with an equally copper bell attached to them.

  “Got it,” I said with a salute. “I’ll ring away.”

  Max patted me on the shoulder and went below.

  The stone cliffs sailed by on either side, water splashed, and the wheel gently slapped at the river. It was a soothing scene. So soothing, in fact, that by the time Torsty came to relieve me, I’d practically pinched straight through my arms and cheeks. That must have made me an odd site, as he stared at me for a minute with an odd grin on his face.

  “Hey,” I asked him, “how did you come to join the guard? I didn’t think they took dwarves.”

  “I’m not from around here,” Torsty explained. “I’m from Gromikhayl, a clan that lives under Rovani Ridge. The local dwarves don’t care about outsiders, dwarves or not.”

  “Where is Rovani Ridge?”

  “Not far from the Borderlands.” The dwarf turned his back on me, letting me know that the conversation was over. He was apparently hurt that I didn’t know where such a wonderful place was.

  The Borderlands. I made a mental note to chat with him later about them. After all, it was somewhere I might end up visiting, so it was a good idea to learn something about it while I had the chance.

  ***

  Vika was already at home. She was standing in front of my wide-open wardrobe scanning its contents critically.

  “You know what, babe?” she said, apparently having heard me grunt as I climbed out of the capsule. “We need to update your wardrobe, and we need to do it ASAP. Well, less update your wardrobe and more buy you one—there’s nothing here.”

  “What do you mean?” I stretched, joints cracking. “I have everything right there.”

  “‘Everything’?” Vika asked sarcastically, turning to look at me. “Five t-shirts, a couple pairs of jeans, a mound of unmatched socks, and two sweaters—I don’t even know what color or shape they’re supposed to be. You couldn’t get a computer nerd to wear them.”

  “They’re perfectly good sweaters,” I muttered. “Oh, the stories they could tell.”

  “Probably something about Lenin,” Vika more shot back than said. “Maybe even from back when he was still alive and walking around.”

  “And?” I had no desire to cut short my life by arguing with her about it. That was something I knew very well: Russian women couldn’t care less what their men think when it comes to childbirth, how much of a bitch their friends are, and new clothes.

  “This Sunday we’re going to Mega—they have lots of good stores there. We need to buy you…” Vika snapped her fingers, pulled a notebook and pen out of somewhere, and started jotting something down as she mumbled under her breath.

  I didn’t stay to ask what she wanted to buy me, as I was too occupied by the smell of something I thought very well might be borscht coming from the kitchen. I headed in that direction.

  “Okay, I wrote down everything we need to buy you.” Vika walked into the kitchen just as I was polishing off my second bowl. I was just about full, and therefore absolutely happy with life.

  “Don’t forget about you,” I replied, not bothering to stop shoveling the spicy, flavorful deliciousness into my mouth. “New Year’s is coming up, and we need to get you some things, too.”

  Vika drummed her fingers on the table as she looked at me thoughtfully.

  “What?” The spoon froze halfway to my mouth. “What’s wrong? We have money, we don’t owe anyone anything, so what’s wrong with buying a few new things?”

  That was apparently what she’d been looking for, as she flipped the page in her notebook and started writing. Probably something about woman stuff I wouldn’t understand.

  “What do you think about not going to the party?” she asked, not looking up from what she was doing.

  “I have to.” I salted a piece of black bread, a habit I’d picked up when I was in the army. “I promised, plus–”

  “Please, just don’t drink too much,” she said, picking her head up. “You really shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t plan on it,” I assured her. “Why?”

  “I know you’re not planning on it, but it always turns out that way.” She frowned slightly. “I just have a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

  I sighed.

  “Oh, well, if you have a bad feeling about it, then that’s different. Don’t worry about it—it’ll be fine. We’ll do a few shots and head home. I’m not really excited about it either, but it’s a tradition, and traditions are sacred in journalism. The brotherhood of writers and drinkers…”

  “Well, just don’t expect too much…” Vika went back to writing in her notebook.

  “How are things at the office?” I asked, pushing back from the table and clasping my hands over my stomach. “I hope today was uneventful?”

  Vika looked up. “Completely. Everything was quiet, no incidents to report. One can’t tell me how excited she is, another is bored, and the third is busy taming the boys. They already know several commands, and all of them know their place.”

  “Really?” I smiled. “It’s like that, huh?”

  “You can’t imagine. ‘Lena said’ is your idiots’, as you say, favorite phrase.”

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with their work, does it?” I asked more seriously. “The
operative phrase needs to be ‘the boss said,’ and then ‘Vika said’ right after that.”

  “No,” Vika replied with a crooked grin, “that only has to do with housekeeping questions. Speaking of which, Zhilin, the new guy, is great. He worked over the superintendent, which I didn’t even think was possible. He brought a new water cooler, he set up heaters, and on Monday the pipes in our wing are getting replaced. It’s incredible!”

  “Does Shelestova have him wrapped around her finger, too?”

  “No, he did a good job dodging her advances and hiding behind everyone else. He knows who the boss is and isn’t, and it doesn’t look like he has time for that kind of thing.”

  “There’s a guy who served in the army,” I replied proudly. “Sounds like he had a good sergeant, the kind they put on monuments in train stations. I should keep a closer eye on Zhilin. And as far as Shelestova goes, don’t worry, you’ll have your turn in the sun.”

  “Oh, that’s just what I need,” she snorted. “Queen of the muck and dust. Her hair is getting split ends, too.”

  Having wrapped up our conversation, Vika went into the other room. I washed the dishes before telling myself what I was going to do next.

  “Time to hit the sack—I’m up tomorrow morning!”

  ***

  It was the first time in a while that I’d had to set my alarm. I was thoroughly enjoying life without its long trills, but a job is a job. Swearing under my breath, I pulled myself in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Trying something new?” Vika greeted me with an ironic glance. “Welcome to my life.”

  “Just for your information, fragrant chrysanthemum of my heart’s desire, my freestyle life is actually what’s new. Not so long ago I had to get up with the street sweepers,” I replied haughtily as I straightened my underwear. “Sometimes I didn’t sleep at all—I was busy sweating away at a pile of material risking my health and sanity.”

  Vika’s phone dinged, and she nodded as she read the message.

  “I know, you’re amazing, just the absolute best, and an incredible journalist to boot.” She got up, rinsed out a cup, set coffee and toast in front of me, and kissed me on the top of my head. “Okay, the car’s here, I’m off.”