Chapter 7

‘Blow on it. It's boiling hot’ Seroin slowly moved her spoon through the thick broth in front of her, swirling the finely chopped spring onions and the greasy pieces of meat. These danced around in the brown mass, like blind birds caught in a cage. ’If you want spice or numbing powder, just ask. Yes? Tomga?‘

The elf in front of her held his spoon in his hand, but didn't move. He was still staring at the other end of the street, where more and more people dressed in blue were gathering.

‘Don't look. Eat.’ Seroin lifted the first bite and started to blow. ’Eyes attract eyes. And just one wrong look can lead to questions and more. Don't look so openly. Rather from the corners of your vision, secretly.’

‘We're still right next to it, why...’

‘Because inspectors look for the people who run and scream, hide. Not those who sit comfortably in an orc restaurant enjoying a nice soup.’

The soup shop was located across the street from the entrance to the side street that led to the Ibis gang's tavern. After her escape, the young woman immediately pulled them into the shop, quickly ordered two house specials, made her way up the stairs and found a cosy place at a table for two on the wide terrace facing the street.

Since then, Seroin had been glancing steadily through the withered flowers on the railing at the entrance to the side street, and was the first to see the inspectors hurrying towards it. The spectacle also distracted other guests, the most colourful of whom looked up briefly from their steaming soups to see the inspectors of Badazan in action. But this never lasted long, and soon they turned back to their food.

Only Tomga kept his eyes fixed on the men in blue, but he didn't hide behind the cheap flowers or even turn his head slightly to the side. And something like that was noticed in Badazan.

‘Eat!’ Seroin kicked him under the table and pointed with her eyes at the soup in front of the elf. ’It is only half as good cold. And get your mind off this place.’ The woman lifted her spoon and scooped up two pieces of meat at once. Then she waved towards the inside of the shop.

Soon an older, round orc woman swung herself out onto the terrace with them, her face broad and smiling, her massive body wrapped in a dress of many colours. On her belt hung countless bottles and tins, all with unique inscriptions. With a skilful movement, she pushed her short grey hair behind her coarse ears and stroked her finely honed tusks. ‘Sese, what do you want extra this time, hmm? You come in here and sit down as if the Steaming Dachshund belonged to you!’

Seroin smiled embarrassedly and pointed to her soup. ‘Numbing poweder. My kind, please. How are you, Gomscha? I see the business is still doing well. I met your two grandchildren recently.’

‘Roscha and Bescha?’ The orc woman deftly pulled a small tin from her belt, opened it, dipped her little finger into a fine powder and stirred it into Seroin's soup. ’Not too much, not too little. It's not easy to get the powder you want, darling, rarely.’

Seroin waved in the direction of a column tower in the middle of the Sagvi quarter. ‘Exactly those, Roscha and Besha. Rosha is now dressed very finely, all paid for by Shiverlip himself.’

‘Hopa's Tailoring?’

‘Hopa's Tailoring!’

Gomsha rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips so vehemently that anyone would have been afraid of her rebuke. ‘Ha, I only half believe you, I'd need a senior inspector to say that. But the two are bastards, cheats and crooks. Keep your hands off that Shiverlip. I always tell them that. They should help out here in the shop, earn an honest living with A.M.I.s. Oh, by all the blood oaths, they could even become inspectors. Maybe they could put one of those nice metal men on my doorstep, that would keep the shop quiet.’

At these words, Tomga jerked and leaned down deeper into his soup.

And like an eagle, Gomsha spotted every little movement. ‘Ah yes. The gentlemen in blue over there. You don't happen to know what took place there and why so many are digging around, do you, Sese?’

Seroin beamed cheekily down at her soup. ’Excellent work today, really. I think both soups deserve half an A.M.I. more than usual.’

The orc woman pinched Seroin harshly on the ear. ‘Don't play games with me, Sese. My family are already rascals and gutter rats. But not you too. You wanted to get out. Make something of it.’

Seroin waved the words away. ‘I can wash dishes here, that'll help. Gomscha, in case someone asks…’

‘No one has entered my shop recently, yes, yes. And you two have been sitting here since this morning, I know the drill.’ The orc woman eyed Seroin's soup with suspicion. ‘Dig in. That'll make it easier for you, won't it, Sese? Keep your head down. A mutual acquaintance came here yesterday, good Marz from Ieswibe. Healer said he'd seen you recently. With a stranger. Are you guiding strangers through Badazan now, Sese?’

Seroin leaned back in her chair slowly. ‘Do I ask you how to properly make your meat broths? My trade, my rules. But this time it's clean and easy. So spare me the accusations. Better bring us a good wine with some schnapps and a bottle of water.’

Shaking her head, Gomsha stomped back into her soup shop, making the whole terrace tremble a little. ‘Impudent youth, foolish children. And you won't get any water! Last time you watered down the wine so disgustingly, I won't do that to anyone.’

The young woman hesitated, eyeing the soup in front of her like a venomous snake, then Tomga nudged her under the table.

The mere sight of him pulled her away from her paranoia. Tomga's face was heavy, his dark blue eyes partly empty, and now every scar on his skin seemed like the heaviest burden to bear. ‘What was that?’

Seroin leaned forward and waved slightly towards the entrance of the side street. ‘The ones in blue?’

‘Everything. Everything that just happened. Too fast. Too wild. Please. What was…’ Tomga's voice rose with each word, but Seroin kicked the table hard again.

‘Calm and slow. Not everyone needs to hear this here.’ She glanced over at the group in blue again. ‘Inspectors of Badazan. Our guards and overseers in the city, I've told you that before. Well, now you see how some use this power here. Not everyone is like that, but many are.’

Tomga's features contorted in anger. ’The king should personally...

‘Not a king. You should understand that by now. The inspectors report to their respective senior inspectors, also known as O.I. And they report to the supreme of all inspectors, O.A.I. And he reports to the city council and the city administration.’ Seroin greedily slurped up another good mouthful of soup. ’And they don't give a damn about this, believe me, trust me.’

‘A group of people are dead, burned by your city guards. And that shouldn't interest anyone?’

‘No one up there, no.’ Seroin waved towards the city centre, to the largest tower of Badazan. “In The True One, up there, we are not seen down here. And who in Badazan cares about a few dead Ibis?’

Tomga now advanced further, desperately seeking her gaze. ´The guests! They even burned the guests there.’

Unimpressed, Seroin continued to slurp her meal. ‘Who's to know? The inspectors over there? They'll just assign every dead guest to the Ibis gang. Write a nice little report and their respective O.I. will be satisfied to have cleared more filth from the city's gutters.’

‘We can tell them!’

‘Tomga, please.’ Seroin patiently put her broth aside and licked her lips. ’It can be a lot for growth to understand our ways of doing things. I tried to spare you a little of that, but Badazan remains Badazan. That's why I'm warning you, such noble thoughts only get you one thing here. Ask your fellow soldier, that Jarefo, what he got for his pursuit of honour. This. That's all you get here.’

The elf advanced with undiminished resolve, almost spilling his soup. ‘I'm Tomga Balf, a war hero from Daumaje, served under Arabara himself. My word must carry some weight.’

‘Then complain to the city council. Stomp right in front of good Bema Sandevi and point an accusing finger at these men. And Bema will talk to the supreme of all inspectors, the O.A.I. Her brother, Torius Sandevi. I'm curious to see whose word will carry more weight. Just forget the Ibis. Wrong dream, wrong dreamer.’

‘Ibis…’ Tomga slumped back in his chair. ‘All of them. Like me... Now dead. They don't deserve that.’

‘The Ibis have always been a bit out of place here. An addition that didn't fit in.’ After another sip, she looked up at him again, her mouth now half full. ’But tell me, a quick question, you can probably help me more with that. I always thought that humans don't live past 100 years. How could good Jarefo even serve in your little war?’

‘Diersa and her ideas gave days more to this picture. Be it out of protection or love. And to see this time thrown away like that.’ Tomga raised a finger and gently stroked the petals of the withered flower in front of him on the railing. ’These were honourable men who didn't deserve this. Not because of what...’

‘G.M.E.’ Seroin lifted her bowl and emptied it in one gulp. Her smacking sound was like a horse's and immediately she waved with a small grin to Tomga's bowl. ’If you let it get cold anyway.’

The elf pushed the bowl carefully over to her and Seroin immediately began gulping.

Tomga raised an eyebrow in slight disgust. ‘You wear your face so calmly, almost like a mask. Except for this. Except when eating.’

‘I'm sorry that I appreciate food. And so good and expensive at the same time, oh war hero.’ She took a good bite. ‘Next time just listen to me. That way we save on inspectors and especially G.M.E.s.’

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

‘G?’

‘G.M.E. General Magic Enforcement. The elite of magic users in Badazan. Where inspectors fail, G.M.E.s step in. And they don't talk much, they just get things done. As we've seen.’

Tomga stared blankly at his fingers. ‘They were able to resist death. I've never seen anything like it.’

‘Oh. They're dead as soon as they put on that mask. You have to magically distort a person to a great extent to make a G.M.E. out of them. Endless injections, metal on their bodies. The nails around the heart alone take several weeks to get used to. Even then, there's still a chance of developing a flutter. And at the end comes the mask.’

‘I've never seen such steel. It must be as thin as silk to fit so lightly on a face.’

Seroin shook his head. ‘It's not. But that doesn't matter, it still fits.’ She moved the spoon through the soup, neatly piling on the meat. ‘You just cut away a little. Nose, lower jaw, tongue, a bit of the forehead and, of course, the eyes, and the steel mask fits on top.’

Tomga suddenly turned pale.

Seroin, on the other hand, loaded more meat onto her spoon. ’But it doesn't make the guys less dangerous. They see and hear through the steel, all their senses are greatly enhanced. You should never underestimate a G.M.E. They are a one-man job and take forever to make. But the good Bema has been cranking them out lately. People are afraid the streets will soon be full of them. They start with the nails on the chest...’

‘I've never seen anything like it... something so distorted. Why the nails?’

‘Magic protection. Each nail has a strong counter-spell, a kind of natural defence. Against death, hostile spells, attacks, all sorts of things. It gives a G.M.E. protection without him carrying a shield. But so many spells in one body. It has to be approached with caution, otherwise...’

‘Flutter disease. You keep talking about it, warning me about it. What does this flutter disease mean?’

Seroin now looked up at him doubtfully. ‘You're a mage? You should know. Don't you have flutter disease where you come from?’

‘Describe it to me, but it sounds strange.’

Seroin pushed the bowl aside. ‘Using magic costs strength. This applies just as much to a mage of natural talent as to one of long apprenticeship. But why?’

‘Because the gift of ideas comes at a price...’

Seroin shook his head. ’I don't know what rules apply to this divine idea magic. I am talking about simple, man-made magic. Magic is the will, or rather the breaking of it. Magic is based on two facts. What is and what is not. Simple, isn't it? And a mage forces one into the other or vice versa.’

She raised a hand. ‘This table is not burning, but I want it to be. So I am forcing something that is not into being, in order to achieve it. In this case, the flow of fire.’ With her other hand, she clapped. ‘And that's how human magic works. Imposing wills. Something is in a certain way. I want it to no longer be that way. Something is not in a certain way? I force it into it. The table is not burning? I force the non-existent fire into the existing fire. Simple. But it takes strength.’

Tomga nodded. ‘I just always pray to the ideas and, well, most of the time, everything works out the way I want it to.’

‘What is a prayer? A friendly and formal form of willpower, an order. But now imagine that your body is too tired for magic, but you can also force it to work again.’ She conjured up an A.M.I. ‘And that's simply how. One shot of this and you draw new magical power into your body, and you can do magic again. But do you know who doesn't like that at all?’

Tomga shook his head and Seroin waved her finger mysteriously around. ’Magic. The imposition of your own will, over and over and over again. You're not a stupid man, Tomga, you know that at some point the victim strikes back, at some point the rat in the corner bites. And what happens when magic strikes? It imposes something on you. Makes you into something you weren't before. Or takes something away that you had before.

Seroin pointed to her arm. ‘Maybe it turns a limb to stone. Maybe it robs you of your sight or hearing. Steals your memories or an organ. Maybe you burst into flames or can no longer taste anything. You can no longer see certain colours, have no sense of direction, Flutter disease knows no bounds. Mild cases are less harsh. A severe case ends in death. The worst end in absurdity. And all because of this little cylinder. Pushing the limits.’

Tomga glared at the A.M.I. in Seroin's hands. ‘What perversion. It's not enough that human magic is actually sacrilege against the ideas. Then also over-exaggerated in this way!’

The young woman deftly threw the cylinder into the air and caught it in her open breast pocket. ‘This perversion saved your leg. Or should we beat it to a pulp again and chew it. That's what it's for. To give life to people? You don't call that perversion?’ Why?’

‘Because it stems from the ideas, because it has a plan. There is a reason why we mortals are only mortals. And much of this, it cannot be intended by the ideas.’

Bored, Seroin ran her spoon through the soup in front of her. ‘How do you know? And this reason, ideas are ideas and mortals are mortals. Who does that come from?’

‘It's just the rule. I don't understand how this place is allowed by the remaining idea children, the demi-gods. Why would you move here, live and breathe here?! Furthermore, why would you forget those who love you?’

‘The ideas and their children? Wasn't your whole little war about half of them wanting to wipe out all existence? Love for us? Well, Tomga, well. I am not well-read, nor as old as you. I only know Badazan, its alleys and its breath. But what the newcomer tells me remains the same, everywhere on this wide continent of Auervam. Keeping your head down gives you a life. Those who dare to go out win a lot or die. You live, you die. Outside, a beast will eat you or you will die of the flu. Here, people laugh at such dangers, here they heal and live protected from them. That's enough for many to seek a home here. Here where hunger, cold and many dangers of the old days no longer threaten. And those who make it here in the gutters have a lot to gain, a life without suffering and effort.’

She blew on her spoon. ‘I tried to spare you some of all this. But now you're in my world. No ideas, but old families and A.M.I.s. No Daumaje, but the gangs of Badazan, fighting for every alley. No divine miracles, but boundless power of human magic. You are here for your sister. A woman to find and you can go back. Nothing more than that. Your visit here will seem like a strange dream. And everyone lives happily ever after.’

Tomga looked up at her with a bowed head. ‘You rehearsed that speech, didn't you?’

Seroin giggled and kicked him under the table again. ‘You're not the first newcomer to whom I explain all this. And you're not the first either who could fail because of it.’

Now the knight actually smiled a little. With a questioning look, he looked over at the remaining soup. ’The place is called Steaming Dachshund, I know the habits of orcs outside this city. What ends up in their soups... a little heads-up?‘ When Seroin grinned and remained silent, he took a bite anyway and seemed to enjoy it immediately.

‘War was harder than they tell us here, right?’ Seroin leaned back and calmly took two steel fingertips out of her hanging bag. She put them on her index finger and thumb, and the metal started to hum immediately. Seroin put her hand in front of her mouth and brought the two fingers together. Suddenly, a tiny, dense cloud of smoke formed in the middle. Seroin inhaled the smoke with a breath, forming her puffs into silent pleasure.

Tomga was fascinated by the contraption in front of him. ‘I see what you mean, some things never change.’ He pulled out a crooked and somewhat splintered wooden pipe. He roughly stuffed a small handful of tobacco into the bowl, pressed it into shape and put the pipe in his mouth. He closed his eyes briefly in concentration and suddenly a small flame flickered, then he began to draw vigorously.

The smoke from Seroin smelled mild and almost sweet, while the thick pipe smoke from Tomga had a harsh, almost repulsive smell.

Seroin raised her eyebrows in amusement. ‘Would you at least like to explain to me what that was about? Jarefo? War?’

The elf took another deep drag and blew out the smoke from his nose. ‘It's true. Unfortunately. Everything the human Jarefo said. First we were told to support his troops, they were facing powerful enemies.’

‘Those idea children.’

‘Right. Terrible opponents. Demigods, blessed by an idea and cruel in their powers. Fear, disease, oblivion, anger, cowardice, such elemental forces unleashed in a body. Hardly any mortal had a chance back then. Except for real war heroes, mortals who feared no one. The great Orforir, for example.’

Seroin clicked her tongue. ‘The name actually means something to everyone here. I know his stature. He stands in the Weide district. The man probably comes from Badazan.’

‘He was an elf, time didn't bother him. Although he probably wouldn't recognise this city anymore. I hope he doesn't look over here too often from the next being.’

‘But Jarefo wasn't an Orforir, a legendary mortal. He was just a man. Like...’ Seroin paused as Tomga raised a hand.

‘If it had been up to me, we would have stayed. Helped. But war is about rules. Our commander, Arabara. She ordered our retreat, saying our forces were needed to help out in more important places. There was a lot more at stake there.’ Tomga shook her head. ’It wasn't right. We knew that even then. I was in the vanguard that delivered the message. We saw the faces of the men we were feeding to the abyss of ideas. Jarefo and the other soldiers didn't stand a chance against the children of ideas. But fear itself... Ibini... When the idea itself stepped onto the battlefield...’

‘Sounds very abstract, a fight against fear itself.’

‘I never saw her. Only the few survivors of it, I met one of them once. Now apparently even more. It must have been unimaginable. Ibini manifests itself in our world as a dead pig, twisted and distorted, held by invisible strings like a puppet. What the soldiers must have seen, must have done. There were rumours of warriors who started screaming until they died. It is said that it rained newborns like hail, fresh children from...’

The young woman saw a tremor return to his fingers. ‘Calm, big one. The evil pig Ibini is gone now. All ideas are gone. Something else, come on, get rid of the thought. Give me a hand for a moment. If we got rid of literal fear, how do we actually still feel fear here? Is something contradicting itself?’

The impertinence of her question tore the veteran out of his own horror and he chuckled briefly. ‘Oh, Badazan woman. We really need to build a temple or something here. Complex and simple. The world is a picture, ideas are colours and brushes. Everything is already drawn, the curves of love, the dots of fear, the shading of loyalty. Even if the ideas are gone, their works for us and the world remain.’

‘Sounds like hogwash to me, convenient excuse, isn't it?’ Seroin winked at him and took another drag. “But I understand it. Rules are rules, it's the same everywhere.” She stole a glance through the flowers. ’Our gentlemen in blue are disbanding. Time to do the same.’ She patted her forehead briefly. ‘I now have your sister's image in my head. Important. With the right friends, you can start looking for her now.’

‘Why do you need it in your head? I know her face, after all.’

‘You seem to know more than just faces. Tomga Balf, the traitorous war hero. It's much easier this way. A glance into a mind you know, you trust more. Before you ask, no. A drawing wouldn't have sufficed either. It's evidence, a clue in our search. You say the Growth Authority has no record of her. That means we have to snoop around. And snooping in Badazan can have consequences for yourself. What do I say about the city?

‘Keep your head down.’ Tomga pulled on his pipe. ’You got me a cure, helped me with my search and saved my life. You have my trust. We'll search your way. But just one question. What do you find out in all this? Isn't that how your city works? Everything for those cylinders, those A.M.I.s?’

‘Exactly those!’ Seroin leaned forward, only having time for a single lie. ’It's not something you should say openly, but you should understand. I'll help you with your search, and in return I get A.M.I.s from Shiverlips. And he, in turn, helps Tomga Balf, a hero of Daumaje, who lives in the Cold Belly. Which you, of course, won't forget. There are expensive plants in your country, rare herbs. Let's say Mr Shiverlips wants to get hold of a few of those. Or other raw materials. And when the time comes, then...’

Tomga smiled in a superior way. ‘Yes, yes, the old trade. The world shouldn't work like this, but it does, I understand. You help me, you get those cylinders. And Shiverlips gets my favour. One day he will come and knock. Yes, some things never change.’

Seroin raised her hands and fell back into her chair. ‘A little crude to say it so openly, so directly. But that's how life works among mortals. One wing lifts the other. Drink up the broth. The person we're looking for first isn't far from here.’

The elf leaned forward. ‘I'm in, I'll follow you and I like your style. But no spare words this time. You don't have to spare me or protect me. Where are we going? Who are we looking for? What does that person do?’ He stared at his open hand as if his heart were in it. ‘I don't want any more surprises like that.’

Seroin blew out the sweet smoke with a grin. ‘Oh, our destination, the place, will be one of the few that might look familiar to you. Even though you will see more people there than ever before in your life. We are going to a market. And we are looking for a thief. It doesn't get more classic than that, does it?’ She hurriedly put an opened A.M.I. on the table and simply jumped over the terrace railing down to the street. She was fine without the wine and schnapps today.