During her time living at the tavern, Rize found humans stranger and stranger. It showed most of all in their food. Instead of eating whatever they fancied, whenever they fancied it, they had contrived special days for themselves. For instance, on the day called Alladis they ate meat, but the next—Sellis—they ate “white meat,” though it was not meat at all! Cheese, curd, eggs—anything, so long as it was not a fine, fatty cut like the one they indulged in on Alladis. On Tessis, like yesterday, meat was allowed, yet they fell to those vile hard things called vegetables.

  That same morning Meoris came, and Rize stood by the threshold before anyone else—for it was fish day, which meant Hemile would go to market for her today!

  The fish row lay along the river, from which dampness seeped like a breath. The goods gleamed on wet matting; here and there gills still twitched. Herring swam in barrels, dried fish hung from ropes—hard as wood. Live eels writhed in a tub, and Rize sprang back:

  — They’rrre arive!

  — I should hope so, — the fishwife smirked. — An eel will rot faster than you can blink if it isn’t. Hemile, who’ve you brought me? I’ve cats enough as it is.

  — My helper. I’m showing her what’s what.

  They slung a string of dried cod over Niko, and handed him a basket of river fish lined with herbs. Hemile heaved a large crate stuffed with herring onto his back and took another basket in his arms. Rize was given two strings of cod. Just standing there waiting, she was already dizzy with the smells—stank something fierce, yet it was terribly appetizing.

  All the way home, a tail of tomcats trailed after the three of them. Perhaps not as hungry as they looked, but persistent all the same. Rize watched them with interest: tail, ears, claws—they were just like her, only a little smaller. The cats were saying something; their voices reached her ears, but the words could not be made out.

  Hemile pointed to a large house with bars on the windows:

  — Dwain lives there. Colette told me to show you.

  Her memories of the office seemed something grand. Everything big and shining. After the estate, it was likely the most splendid place she had ever been—once, and for now the first and last time.

  In recent days Dwain had been coming less often. Sometimes he went upstairs with Colette to a special room and stayed there the whole night through. Attempts to get in had come to nothing, though she was curious to peek inside.

  The next day, returning from the market, they passed the office again. As it turned out, that was on purpose. In the evening, as the visitors drifted away, Colette came up to Rize with a small bundle in her hands.

  — Here, — she said curtly. — Take it to Dwain. Since you know the way, don’t turn off anywhere and don’t dawdle. It can be dangerous at night, do you understand?!

  — Yess! — Rize nodded, taking the weighty bundle.

  She darted out into the street, thrusting her muzzle into the cold wind, and ran full-tilt toward the market. Every moment felt astonishing: the way something hammered in her chest, the way her paws filled with a pleasant weariness. Even the nasty cold could not drown the sweet feeling of a free run.

  The market outskirts, noisy and full of people in the mornings, looked frighteningly dark and empty.

  Rize raced to the familiar door and, as Colette had taught her, felt in the wall beside the jamb for a hidden loop with a cord. She tugged once, then again, harder. From within came the muffled tinkle of a bell.

  A moment later a lock clicked, and the door cracked open. Dwain appeared in the gap, his eyes rounding in surprise.

  — Rize?

  — Corette… bundre, — she panted, holding out the canvas knot.

  — How did you… Ahh, never mind! — The dverg took the bundle. — Thank you. Run back—since you know the way—and come again sometime, we’ll have a chat…

  He tried to shut the door, but Rize braced a paw against the jamb.

  — My paws… a-rre frrreezing, — she declared, pulling a mournful face. — Can I… warm them?

  She simply wanted to go inside—into that warm, strange place. To look at the shiny knickknacks on the shelves, the bricks on chains that were called books, and, in the best of outcomes, to receive a gift.

  Dwain hesitated and, scratching the back of his head, sighed and stepped aside.

  — All right. Come in, only… we’re not alone.

  Rize slipped inside, feeling warmth from a small stove in the corner wrap around her fur. She looked about. Everything was even better than she remembered: a multitude of crates, a board covered in odd symbols, and, of course, the scales—likely the biggest on the whole street, beckoning her to jump up on them.

  But something was different. Someone—or something—who hadn’t been in the office before.

  Gyuste sat at the table, but he was strange. Not as merry and talkative as usual. He sat slumped, his face sorrowful. His motley jacket was unfastened and smeared with something dark, his hair tangled. One cheek was unnaturally swollen; beneath one eye lay a dark shadow of a bruise yet to come. In his hand he convulsively gripped an almost empty wooden mug, and his gaze was hollow.

  He smelled like those men at the tavern.

  Dwain, having shut the door, trudged heavily to his chair behind the table, but did not sit; instead he leaned on its back.

  — There, — he jerked his head toward Gyuste, and a bitterness rare for him sounded in his voice. — As you see, even our master is not always in spirits.

  Rize stared at the bard, her gaze shifting between him and Dwain. She had seen Gyuste anxious before performances—then he paced, straightened his clothes, muttered lines. But shattered like this? No. This was something else.

  Stolen story; please report.

  — He… is ick? — she asked uncertainly, nodding toward the bard.

  — Well, in a manner of speaking, yes, — Dwain shrugged. Weariness sounded in his voice. — The sickness is called foolishness.

  Gyuste turned to them with contempt on his face:

  — Foolishness?! How can you liken lofty feelings to foolishness when you yourself are in love?!

  — Oh, don’t go talking about that in front of Rize.

  — No, Dwain. If I taught her words, it’s time to teach her life as well. And life, my fluffy apprentice— — he slammed his fist on the counter, making the mug hop, — is passion, betrayal, and treachery!

  — Gyuste, shut up, — Dwain hissed, but the bard had already worked himself up.

  — Karen! — he spat the name as though spitting venom. — That vile snake! Traitor! After all that was, she dared to do such a thing!

  He seized the mug again and drank so hard that the liquid ran down onto his clothes.

  Rize pricked her ears.

  — What is a snaake? — she asked, inching closer to the stove’s warmth without taking her eyes off Gyuste.

  — There are two kinds of snakes, — the bard answered. — Some are small, with scales like a fish’s, and they crawl upon the ground, and others… others are whores who betray their men.

  Dwain let out a heavy sigh, finally sat in his chair, and rubbed a hand over his face.

  — Put simply: do you remember Lady Annette from the story about Tarian?

  Rize nodded eagerly. She had seen the stories of Tarian on the square a couple of times. He was a thief who, to music, stole shiny things from the rich and fought bad men. Lady Annette was a beautiful fair-haired girl who was always hugging him.

  — Karen played Lady Annette—only she wore a wig. Her own hair is dark.

  — As dark as her heart! — Gyuste cut in. — She was my beloved, and a great actress!

  — Was, — the dverg noted dryly.

  — Until I met Liusena! Oh, Dwain, she is the perfect Lady Annette—as though the image had descended from the world of ideas and taken flesh in this wondrous creation.

  Dwain snorted, but at the corner of his eye something flickered that looked like understanding. Or weary mockery.

  — And Karen, of course, was not pleased. Flew into a rage. And as a parting gift… — he made a meaningful pause, — she took the text of the new production with her.

  — She stole the story! — Gyuste howled, striking the tabletop again. — The whole plot! And now she blackmails me! Either I go back to her, drive off “that empty little Liusena,” or she takes the text to Ramani! Can you imagine, Dwain? Ramani! That talentless peacock! He’ll tear it to pieces, cheapen it, turn it into a laughingstock!

  — And what’s the price?

  — Fifty forrins “for heart-pains”! — Gyuste blurted. — I don’t have that kind of money! The troupe doesn’t! You know we put everything into the scenery!

  The dverg shook his head.

  — The theatre, oddly enough, is beginning to bring in income. But fifty… that’s too much even for my generosity. — He cast a glance at Colette’s bundle lying on the table. — Easier to yield. Go back to Karen. Lie to her that you’ve parted with Liusena. Or, if it truly burns so, part with her for real. Art demands sacrifice—you tell me that often enough. Especially when the sacrifice is someone’s foolish heart.

  — But I love them both! — Gyuste groaned, lowering his head into his hands again. — Liusena—she’s like a young shoot! So much ahead… And Karen—she’s like a ripened rose, incredibly talented in the arts!

  Rize, who had been listening with eyes wide, finally could not bear it:

  — I… didn’t under-rstand anyfing, — she said honestly. — Why stear words? There a-rre… lots arround. Why not just take them? — She grimaced. — And the perrforrmance! I want to see! You p-rromised me and Niko!

  Gyuste lifted a tearful gaze to her, and suddenly a spark flared in his clouded eyes.

  — Take them… — he whispered. — Just take them back… Why not? She couldn’t have read it all in so short a time! If we find where she’s hiding it…

  Dwain shook his head.

  — No. No stealing. That’s needless trouble. I’ve enough of my own.

  The cat watched them, her gaze passing from one to the other.

  — But it’s thrift! — Gyuste cried, brightening. — No fifty forrins, no yielding! We simply… return what’s ours! Like the noble thief Tarian!

  — You are not Tarian; you are a drunken bard with a sorrowful face, — Dwain stated without mercy, drumming his fingers on the table.

  — I am Tarrian! — Rize said. — I’ll cut in and take the plot!

  Now Dwain looked at her with distrust.

  — I said no. The last thing I need is for you to get caught. A runner from “Spicy Boar”—a thief. That would be disgrace for Colette.

  — With cheeze you won’t catch me.

  — What?

  Rize, briefly but not without exaggeration, told him what had happened at the market.

  — I didn’t expect that. And why didn’t Hemile tell me? — Dwain shook his head. — Though I’m more surprised you didn’t eat it all yourself.

  — But I can—

  — No. Now go back to the tavern. You’ve warmed your paws long ago, and your teacher is too drunk to tell you anything worthwhile.

  Gyuste followed Rize with a sorrowful look. He did not show it, but in his head he was already working out a plan.

  On the way home, the cat thought about Gyuste’s words.

  “Teacherr said strrange things beforre too, but this time I didn’t under-rstand at arrr. And Dwain is so borring!”

  Colette, as expected, began to shout the moment the messenger appeared on the threshold:

  — Why so long?! Did you get lost? What were you doing out there?!

  Rize excused herself that she had stayed to warm up at Dwain’s and ran to the kitchen. Luckily the hostess was counting the day’s takings and did not press her with questions.

  A weary Niko was already asleep on the floor, having first laid out a mat for his friend; she dropped onto it and curled up beside him.

  In the morning of the next day, Gyuste came, declaring that he had prepared a special lesson. Colette allowed it, deciding along the way that cleaning fish and studying went well together.

  While the cat scraped scales off with a knife, holding herself back from sinking her teeth into them, the bard, wincing slightly, said:

  — Yesterday you said you wanted to become Tarian?

  Rize looked at him with interest.

  — Tarrrian? — she repeated, and her tail twitched of its own accord with anticipation. — Of courrse I do!

  Gyuste leaned closer, lowering his voice:

  — Then I have a task for you…

  Black Sapphire - Chapter 17 will be published on February 23th.

  https://ko-fi.com/mathias85599