The Legends of old Lies

9 - The sign

Small stones, dirt and dried rat scat crunched under his boots. Whispering, the last remaining shutters of a former warehouse rattled far back on the outer edge of the capital. The light of the mid-morning sun fought bravely through gaps between boards nailed in front of windows and passageways. It crept through crooked floorboards, past collapsed staircases and over long-forgotten piles of overturned boxes that had been broken open and cleared out. Grains of dust danced in the air everywhere, shimmering silvery in the dimness of the abandoned building.

A gleam brushed the smoothly polished barrel of a slender rifle, covered with carefully carved symbols. The man holding it put it on and cast an appraising glance over it. Tall figures with the stature of wide wardrobes, jerked out of his path.

"It's not loaded! Idiots..." a slender man hissed to his broad-shouldered henchmen, shaking his head.

Rikkon set it down again and placed it back on the table next to a collection of very similarly engraved sabres, pistols and other small tools of war.

"Even loaded, it's not much use to me like this. The magic on it is not activated."

"Of course not." The arms dealer let a crooked yellow grin cross his features. "Because it comes straight from one of the factories. All you have to do is get one of the witches in your ranks to activate the signs and you'll have weapons as good as the gendarmes and soldiers. No, better!"

Raising his eyebrows, Rikkon folded his arms in front of his chest and cocked his head to the side.

"And all of a sudden you want to know that I have ranks? And witches jumping in them?"

The man in front of him snorted impatiently and rolled his eyes. "Do you want the goods or not?"

"Certainly not for the price you asked, if I have to find a witch to do the most important part of the work first."

"Kid, don't act like you're in a position to negotiate anymore. Everyone knows you're down and out and need the weapons more than..."

He faltered. Not, however, as Rikkon had decided to turn the mocking babble into broken teeth. Loud rumbling of hastily hurried footsteps could be heard, making everyone in the small group look startled in the same direction.

"The gendarmes!" a brawny little woman yelled her panicked warning. A moment later a shot banged and smashed crashingly into old logs somewhere.

Like rats who had just been sitting together nibbling on the carcass of a dead animal, the dubious figures scattered rather abruptly at the arrival of larger predators. However, the city guards in their purple and black uniforms were quite similarly swift. They appeared barely a moment later, trampling across the old floorboards. The dirt of the floor swirled up. A brown-grey haze settled like mist in the air and crept scratching into noses and mouths. Wild screams could be heard. Muzzle flashes popped from guns and the hiss of a witch using her magic to throw the ground into waves and make the fleeing figures trip over their own feet.

Rikkon also staggered. He stumbled against a wall, fell partly through it and when he managed to get out of it again, one of the gendarmes grabbed him to twist his arm behind his back. Gasping, he braced himself against the merciless grip of the law.

"Get the rest of them!" The command of the man behind him echoed in his ears. "I'll take care of this one."

Immediately they hurried away and disappeared in the dirty mist and the crashing and banging of the chase.

Rikkon bulked up, kicked backwards and hissed, "You'll regret this! Goddamn fucking Violet-licker!"

His boot hit a leg. Behind him, the uniformed gendarme gasped painfully. He growled a curse and half turned to the side to lift his head. Checking, he made sure that both the arms dealers and the lawmen were out of sight and earshot.

"All right, they're gone," the gendarme said while grumbling and rubbing his leg.

Still cursing, but quieter this time, Rikkon pushed himself off the wall and circled his shoulder. Irritated anger was on his face. He brushed back the dark strands that had fallen wildly into his forehead before hissing, "What is this? The plan was to make sure you wouldn't be patrolling here today, of all places."

Angrily, he walked past the man, who raised his hands apologetically. He usually did his job as a spy much more reliably. Until just now, a selection of various weapons had been spread out on the slightly swaying table. A few still lay there. Wrapped in flimsy cloths or tumbled over the edge to the floor in the rush. They had taken most of it with them. Anyway, this was only a selection.

"It's important Rikkon," the gendarme said. "And I didn't know where else to find you earlier."

"Important? What could have been so important?" rumbled Rikkon as he gathered up the meagre scraps to stack them clattering on top of each other.

Meanwhile, the fabric of the uniform rustled. Then Rikkon noticed a blue-green glow mingling with the white light of the sun's rays. He turned around and saw the thing that the gendarme was now holding out to him. The chain from which it hung rattled softly. It held a flat stone about the size of a palm at its end. It was not the first time Rikkon had seen it. A few times he had even been allowed to hold it. He had carefully touched the lines scratched on it with wide eyes and listened to the stories, which he later dismissed as false dreams. The last time he had seen it, he had shrugged his shoulders and changed the subject to more important things. Things that were real and genuine and not based on hopeful fairy tales. Now, however, he swallowed much harder, because the stone was glowing. It shone from within through the symbols, casting flickering dancing light between shadow and sunshine. It hadn't done that recently. In fact, it had never done that. And it never should have, unless....

"Since when?" asked Rikkon, whose voice had suddenly become a breathy whisper. He clenched his teeth tensely. His jaw creaked softly under the pressure.

The gendarme continued to hold up the chain and the glowing stone in front of them both. His gaze just as, if not more clearly, mesmerised by it.

"Since last night. Exactly when is not entirely clear, but..." He tore away and looked at Rikkon. Excitement twitched across his face. "You know what this means, yes?"

Rikkon nodded. "I know it means trouble."

Shaking his head, the gendarme turned to him. He wrapped the necklace in a cloth until the glow was no longer visible and handed it to Rikkon.

"Believe me, I thought it was just a story too. But now..." The stone was covered, but a nearly similar glow now appeared in the man's eyes. "... If she has returned, then we should better find her first. If someone gets ahead of us, it will definitely bring trouble."

Rikkon grimaced but took the wrapped thing. It was warm. As if it was glowing softly inside its covering. But at the same time, a cold shiver ran down his skin. Quickly he slipped it into the side of his coat pocket so he wouldn't have to feel it.

"So you're leaving?" The man, who seemed to have much more faith than Rikkon, looked at him attentively and also a little suspiciously. As if he suspected he might discard the order as soon as he was out of sight.

"If it's true and I find her, I'll take her straight to her," he said, tugging at his coat. It seemed to him that one corner weighed significantly more than the other.

The gendarme nodded with satisfaction. "Good, before you go, though, there's something we should do so I can claim you've managed to break away."

"Like last time?"

"About the same, but a little more... gentle... Last time you broke my nose."

A small smirk slid across Rikkon's features. A hint that glided over the bitter responsibility that had been handed to him.

"You wanted it to look real."