Shadow Chaser (8 page)

Eel paused before replying. He’s the silent type, sometimes he doesn’t open his mouth even once the whole day long.

“Both, to be honest. It’s a strange coincidence that we ran into someone who knows you. You suddenly spotted an old enemy. And then, just a few minutes later, an old acquaintance of yours turns up. Just recently I’ve started feeling wary of any kind of coincidence or chance event. And, pardon me, but I don’t trust anyone but myself. I’m feeling a little concerned about this Bass who suddenly showed up out of nowhere.”

I knew Eel’s iron character—it was practically impossible to disconcert him with any sort of surprise—and so the words “a little concerned” on his lips meant a great deal.

I paused, trying to gather my thoughts, because I didn’t like talking to people about my life. The less other people knew about you, the better protected you were against all kinds of surprises.

For had hammered that wisdom into my head a long time before, and as time passed I came to realize that my old teacher was absolutely right. No one in Avendoom knew about Shadow Harold’s feelings and attachments, and no one could put pressure on me by using my friends and dear ones. Because I didn’t chatter much and minded my own business, I wasn’t too worried about suddenly being stabbed in the back.

But I trusted the tight-lipped Garrakian.

Eel was probably one of the few people with whom I was not afraid of opening up and pouring out my soul, knowing that he would take everything he heard from me to the grave with him.

“We were friends ever since we were kids,” I began. “We lived in the slums of Avendoom, and we went through a lot together … hunger, freezing winters, raids by the guards.… We survived all sorts of things.… Bass and I looked out for each other and more or less managed to make ends meet until a master thief took us under his wing. His name was For.…

“That man taught us a lot.… For used to say I had a natural gift for thievery, and maybe he was right. Bass wasn’t quite so.… When were living on the street, I was the one who picked people’s pockets, not him. My friend had a different passion—cards and dice. For eventually gave up on my friend, and Bass got more and more involved in gambling.”

I frowned. I still found remembering this episode from the past as painful as ever.

“A couple of times he got himself into nasty situations when he was completely wiped out. Back then For was a major figure in the criminal world of Avendoom and he was able to get his pupil off the hook. But everything has to come to an end sometime. One day Bass got into really serious trouble—my friend found himself owing a large sum of money to Markun, a man who was the head of the Avendoom Guild of Thieves for a long time. Bass didn’t tell me or For anything about it. He just took our money and disappeared. He stole his teacher’s and his friend’s gold. Then the rumors spread that Markun’s lads had left him floating under the piers, but the body was never found. For these last twelve years For and I thought that Bass was dead. So you can imagine how amazed I was to see him in Ranneng, alive and well.”

“Yes indeed…,” Eel grunted. “Let’s hope that your meeting really was just coincidence.… You’re not planning to meet up with him for a talk?”

“No,” I replied without even thinking about it, and the conversation fizzled out of its own accord.

Eel and I turned our attention back to what was happening down by the lectern.

The professor was clutching the instrument of torture in one hand as he lectured the students.

“… As you can see, the dental system of gnomes is rather similar to the human dental system. But there are certain differences. The structure of the skull and the alveolar appendages is not quite the same in gnomes. This race has a straight bite, and fewer teeth than humans—only twenty-four, twelve in each jaw. They have no canines and only one set of premolars. Unfortunately, my friends, I am not able to show you the teeth of orcs or elves. But believe me, they are absolutely identical, which proves just how closely related the two races are. The hyperdevelopment of the lower canines has led to the development of a rather specific bite in the elves and the Firstborn—when the mouth is opened, the lower jaw is displaced.… But I am digressing. The reason that has brought our patient to us today is the fourth tooth on the upper right. I am inclined to believe that the factor that induced the pain was abrupt hypothermia of the entire organism. But here, of course, it would be better to take a case history, because suppositions will not get you very far. I remember I had a case in which my patient…”

“I think this will go on and on for a very long time.” Eel chuckled.

The Garrakian wasn’t the only one who thought so. Several of the students were looking quite frankly bored. Kli-Kli was gazing curiously at the glittering knife left lying beside the corpse, and Deler was yawning desperately, covering his mouth with his massive hand. Hallas was squirming impatiently in the chair, his color gradually changing from pale to scarlet. Just as the talkative professor started analyzing the tenth clinical case from his own practice, the gnome’s patience finally ran out.

“Aaah! I swear by the ice-worms!” the gnome roared, then he leapt up out of his chair and set off resolutely in our direction.

“Where are you going, dear sir?” the professor exclaimed in amazement. “What about the tooth?”

All the students, suddenly roused from their lethargy, started gaping wide-eyed at the gnome.

When he heard the question, Hallas stopped, turned round, and made an indecent gesture to everyone there. The poor professor clutched at his heart. Pleased with the effect he had created, the gnome strode on toward the exit with his head held high.

“And where to now, Hallas?” Deler asked.

“To a tavern! Maybe drink will do something to ease this damned pain.…”

*   *   *

The gnome strode in determinedly through the door of the Sundrop tavern. It was probably the worst of all such establishments in the Upper City. Although it was so close to the university and the school of magicians, the characters who gathered there were by no means the most trustworthy types.

My cautious glance immediately picked out a table with five Doralissians and a table with men wearing the badge of the Guild of Stonemasons. The Doralissians and the masons were eyeing each other dourly, but had not yet moved on to active hostilities. I was inclined to think that things wouldn’t get as far as a fight until the lads downed another five jugs of wine.

Another danger zone in the bar room of the Sundrop was the tables where a dozen or so Heartless Chasseurs were sitting, apparently celebrating a leave pass. They cast sideways glances at the Doralissians and the stonemasons. The soldiers’ faces were set in an expression of gloomy determination to batter the faces of both groups if they tried to stop them having a good time.

Of course, there were plenty of ordinary folks in a more peaceable frame of mind, but there was definitely tension in the air and the innkeeper was dashing about like a lunatic, trying to defuse the situation.

“Hmm…,” I said, trying to shout above the din. “Maybe we should find somewhere a bit calmer?”

“Don’t be afraid, Harold, you’re with me!” Hallas declared, taking a seat at the only free table, which was right beside the bar.

I wasn’t afraid. I had no doubt that if the regulars of this tavern suddenly found themselves in the Knife and Ax, they would faint in sheer fright. But why were we here? What was the point in sticking your nose into a bear’s den just for the sake of a fight? We needed to take good care of ourselves.

A serving wench appeared in front of us as if by magic.

“Beer for these four, and something very, very strong for me,” said the gnome.

“We have wheat liquor and krudr—Doralissian vodka.”

“Mix the liquor with the krudr, add some dark beer and a bit of Gnome’s Fire,” the gnome decided after a moment’s thought. “Do you have Gnome’s Fire?”

“We can probably find some, sir.”

If the serving wench was surprised by this strange selection, she didn’t show it.

“Listen, Hallas,” Deler said to the gnome, “if you want to commit suicide, you don’t have to drink garbage. Just tell me, and I’ll dispatch you to the next world at the drop of a hat.”

Hallas adopted a rather unusual tactic in response to this jibe—he ignored it.

“And no beer for me, please, just carrot juice,” Kli-Kli put in.

“We don’t serve that here.”

“Well, some other kind of juice, as long as it tastes good.”

“We don’t have any,” the serving wench said, not very politely.

“How about milk? Do you have milk?”

“Beer.”

“All right then, beer.” Kli-Kli sighed disappointedly.

“Fancy finding people like this in such a place!” said a familiar voice.

Lamplighter, Arnkh, and Marmot walked up to us. Invincible jumped off Marmot’s shoulder, thudded down onto our table, and started twitching his pink nose in hopes of finding something tasty to eat. Kli-Kli thrust a carrot at the ling, but the beast just bared his teeth. He didn’t give a damn for the goblin’s attempts to make friends with him.

“What wind blows you in here?” the gnome asked the new arrivals in a none-too-friendly voice.

“I can tell you’re not very pleased to see us,” Arnkh laughed as he took a seat.

Mumr and Marmot followed their companion’s example, although Marmot had to take a chair from the next table, where the goat-men were sitting. The Doralissians looked the warrior over dourly, but they didn’t bother him, deciding that it wasn’t worth risking their horns and beards for anything as petty as a chair.

“He’s not pleased to see anyone today,” Deler replied for the gnome.

“Have they pulled that tooth out?” Lamplighter asked.

“Listen, Mumr,” Hallas said irritably, “go tootle your whistle and leave me alone.”

“Oo-oo-ooh, things are really bad,” said Lamplighter, shaking his head with disappointment.

“Why hasn’t it been pulled out?” asked Arnkh, joining in the conversation.

“I changed my mind!” the gnome suddenly exploded. “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”

“All right, Hallas, all right,” Arnkh said good-naturedly, trying to calm the gnome down. “So you changed your mind. What’s all the shouting about?”

The serving wench brought beer for us and the fiery mixture for Hallas. She took the order from the three Wild Hearts who had just joined us and went away again.

“So how do you come to be here?” I asked Marmot, who was feeding his ling.

“Arnkh dragged us out for a walk round the city. It’s a lousy little town. And we dropped in here to wet our whistles.”

“And did you see anything interesting in the city?” Kli-Kli asked, sniffing cautiously at the beer he had been served: It was obviously not much to his liking. “Hallas, why aren’t you drinking?”

“And you?” the gnome snarled back, staring at his booze as if there was a dead snake floating in it.

“I’m sniffing it!” Kli-Kli retorted. “That’s quite enough for me!”

“Me, too.”

“Well now, the krudr smells even worse than the goats,” Lamplighter chuckled.

“Well, how do you like the race of gnomes?” Deler asked with a cunning grin as he took a sip of dark beer. “Afraid of having a tooth pulled on, so they order a brew of fire and they’re afraid to drink that, too.”

“Who’s afraid, hathead? On the Field of Sorna we weren’t afraid to break your horns for you, and you think we’re afraid to drink this water? Watch!”

Hallas poured the liquid down his throat in a single gulp, without pausing for breath. I shuddered. One drop of the explosive mixture that the gnome had ordered would have been enough to fell a h’san’kor.

Our bearded friend drank, grunted, banged his mug down on the table, focused his wandering eyes together on a single point, and flared his nostrils as he tried to figure out what he was feeling. We all gazed at him in genuine admiration.

“That’s dis…,” the gnome said, scorching us all with the indescribable aroma of that repulsive mixture. “That’s dis … disgusting, may the Nameless One take me!”

“Are you alive?” Deler asked, squinting warily at his friend.

“No, I’m already in the light! The only time I’ve ever felt this good was when you dragged my butt off that Crayfish Duke’s scaffold! We-ench! Another three mugs of the same brew!”

“Well then?” Marmot asked after a pause. “Shall we drink to Tomcat?”

“May the earth be a feather mattress to him, and the grass his blanket!” said Lamplighter, raising his mug.

“May he walk in the light,” said Hallas.

“A good winter to him,” said Eel.

We drank in silence, without clinking glasses.

That’s the way it goes: Some are already in the light, and some are still alive. Tomcat had been left behind in the ground beside the old ravine in Hargan’s Wasteland, the first to die of those who had set out to escort me to Hrad Spein. I hoped very much that the Wild Hearts’ scout would also be the last one to die during our journey.

Time passed imperceptibly, people came and people went; the stonemasons, Doralissians, and chasseurs kept filling themselves up with wine. Two hours later, when I had my third mug of beer standing in front of me, and Hallas had the eighth mug of his fiery “remedy,” an old man with a whistle appeared out of nowhere and started playing a jolly djanga.