“Home is not always a comforting thought. Like any character, we all begin in one place and end somewhere new. Whether that’s mentally or physically depends on the kind of story. No character wants to return home, not unless they’ve at least gotten out of the first chapter” –Narav
Even the natives of Ne’hear got lost sometimes. Narav counted the slanted alley openings behind him, tapping a finger against his chin as he considered. Was it three open streets then left? Or four? How did he find Malsa’s home the last time? Years flew by in the space of breaths as Narav tried to recall. Malsa was a thief, according to his father. The merchant didn’t approve of anyone skulking between shipment crates or ogling from just above the waterline. Still, for all the thunder and fire, the old merchant had certainly called upon Malsa’s services from time to time and never spoke of him as a thief to dock security. No, Malsa was a different sort of thief. She snatched snippets of conversation and faces. Her trade was intelligence and business had always been good. No ship had set to port without a story or two about rogue sailors absconding with crew money, a loose-lipped captain, or any manner of indiscretion requiring a dog to stir up the smell of trouble. If his father had made his way back to Ne’hear in the last few years, Narav would find evidence from Malsa. Certainly his return would have been something public enough to leave an impression.
Why not go look yourself, an inner voice would say. The answer, of course, would be that he didn’t return with his sister…the flesh and blood of his adoptive father. Without her, a return was meaningless, a token gesture. Besides, Lisirra had assured him they all still drew breath. The witch may have been insidious, but she enjoyed the game too much to rig it from the onset. At least that was what Narav had to believe. Narav. No. No. Narraphas. Narav was a name for the past, when he could set all things as they were and rejoin the current of his life as the son of a merchant. Till then Narraphas would do, a name with no origin save himself. Spewed from the sea, renamed, and coaxed along by threats from a diminutive pestilence made manifest. Spectacular opening chapters, really.
At the juncture of the third and fourth alley, Narav decided on the former and shuffled between the narrow backs of buildings. Refuse collected and squished beneath his boots. Instinctively he pulled up his cloak and bunched it around his shoulders, keeping the cloth from dragging through the rank slop he slogged through. It was his fault, really, keeping his eye closer to dirt on his boots than the road before him.
“Out for a stroll?”
Narav looked up sharply, focusing on the two men. Previously they’d laid so flat against the wall that Narav might have passed them unknowing. But it was worrying how easily they filled the alleyway now. One held a glittering dagger, slightly rusted along the edge. The other was unarmed and held both hands out in a gesture that might have conveyed harmless intent, if not for the naked blade gleaming in the hand of his friend.
“I. Yes.” Narav looked from dagger to eye to hand to eye, measuring up the men before him. They wore the trappings of brigands, or at least that was the quickest association the young man made. Their clothes were dirty, smudged with past meals or…past victims. “Actually, no. I’m looking for someone.” The dagger was a punctuation mark that set the whole mood for discussion. While it wasn’t directly leveled at Narav, it was gripped hard enough to steal the color from knuckles. That’s a man who is ready to use it, Narav thought. He resisted the urge to swallow hard.
“Looking? Seeking? Well, well, Mok a seeker! We have ourselves a pilgrim.” Mok nodded, but didn’t speak any words. He let his friend do the talking. Narav understood. Two guys. One talks, one holds the knife. Maybe Mok had a stutter. Nothing hides a stutter like a menacing knife. “Tell you what, pilgrim, let me help you out. Neighborly thing to do.”
“Very neighborly,” Narav agreed, “Grateful for it, really.” Was that what he sounded like? His voice sounded far away, like his throat was grasped in a baby’s fist. What a surreal conversation. They obviously meant to rob him, how could they not? It had been a bit since he was in Ne’hear, but common courtesy wasn’t to have a blade-man flank your good deeds. Why were they all pretending?
The taller man, the talker, held out a hand and rotated it…as if expecting Narav to continue. Oh. Of course. He didn’t even tell them who he was looking for. Mok looked nervous, eyes leaping from Narav to his friend and back again. His hand resembled the hue of a tomato, save for the knuckles. It was like Mok was trying to crush the knife in his own grip. “Oh. Malsa. I’m looking for Malsa.”
“Malsa!” the tall man exclaimed with a wide smile. Too wide. It was such a wide smile. Narav thought of sharks trailing the back of his father’s ship, maws opening briefly above the waves so wide, so very wide. “Malsa, we know a Malsa, right Mok? Wrong alley, friend. You’ll want one over. Though…” He looked Narav up and down, “Walk like a merchant, sir. Think she’ll be glad to see the color of your coin.”
Not as much as you, though, Narav almost said aloud, before he remembered where he was. Who he was. He was getting mugged. How could he not be in the middle of a mugging? Then a thought crossed his mind, what if he just turned and ran? Curious that it had never crossed his mind before now. He already knew the way in front of him was the wrong one, and even if it was the right one he wouldn’t very well walk past Mok without getting that blade somewhere in his body.
“Seeing as we were so helpful,” the tall man drew out, holding out a hand, “Perhaps you could be so helpful as to return the favor. We are not wealthy men.” He said wealthy like he was trying to spit it and Narav knew this was the part where he pulled out his coinpurse, handed them a coin and then they stabbed him and took the rest.
Nope. Not today. He knew how this chapter ended. Narav pivoted with intent to dash out of the alley at full speed. Of course, he had already forgotten about the slush of garbage beneath his feet. Instead of turning on his foot and hurling himself headlong out of the alley, Narav comically pirouetted, ending up in the same spot as he had before, facing the slant of Mok and Tall man’s eyebrows as they processed the curious turnabout. Narav didn’t pause long enough to look embarrassed, leaping to his other foot and turning again to run.
But the cloak. Of course, bunched up on his shoulders his motion jerked it free and the tall man reached out to catch it. Narav had already committed to the dash and so his legs stammered forward as his neck and shoulders remained where they were. For a moment, Narav considered how funny this might have looked before he crashed to the cobblestones below, Tall-man holding tight to a handful of wool cloak. Mok closed over him, thrusting a bended knee into Narav’s groin to hold him as his dagger came around to menace Narav finally. “What’s your hurry, pilgrim?” Tallman said, all joviality gone from his tone. “Mok, be so kind as to relieve our friend of his coin. We’ll have to teach him a lesson in Ne’hear generosity.”
Narav resisted the sudden, suicidal urge to correct Tallman on Ne’Hear etiquette. It was fleeting, his mind firing desperately to remove himself from the reality of where he was. Who he was. Why he was. Mok set the edge of the blade against Narav’s heaving chest, his other hand groping at his belt. The young man held perfectly still, knowing that even a particularly deep breath might wound him and Mok certainly needed little encouragement. Maybe this would be over soon and then, penniless, he could throw himself on the mercy of the wharf spy.
For whatever that was worth.
