Head Hunt (Daracka Volume I)

Thirty-Three ✧ No Justice

Jiro paced his room at the inn and went over the things he learned about Alet. She couldn't remember her past, not even her name. She was strong, her strength incomprehensible. She was too young, but Eskolar Kida's description had been right—a young female soldier at the age of six over her first decade.

He always had certainty in his tracking abilities. He followed the trail, and he found her. But this was different from what he was used to, unlike tracking a nouse where he could tell what he was searching for by its prints. Alet was not one of the animals he learned about in field guides, and he doubted her identity even with proof.

He stopped pacing and decided to try to talk to Alet again, getting dressed and going to the tavern below, where he found the tall tavern maid standing behind the bar.

"Beautiful blue skies," she greeted him when he landed at the bottom of the stairs.

Jiro never learned her name, but sometimes he heard Piriu call out the girls—Alet, Kiracka, and Atar—but he wasn't sure who was who, except for the first.

"Beautiful blue skies," he greeted back. "Is Alet around?"

"Gone out," the maid answered. "Don't know where."

He considered asking Piriu, but he thought otherwise. The conversation he heard between the innkeeper and the tavern maid still disgusted him. He couldn't bear to speak with the man with such thoughts in his head.

He could wait for Alet to return, but he'd rather go out to find her.

He headed to the market first, where he saw her that day he followed her—grateful that she didn't slit his throat. The feel of her cold knife was still fresh in his mind, and the small cut she made on his neck, though heeled, remained a faint white line.

The market was bustling as usual. People nudged him from every direction with their elbows or trades as he made his way to the same spot he'd seen Alet. It was near the stall selling knives and other small weapons.

Jiro wore his salakot on his head, keeping the rim over his eyes and making it difficult to look around. But it kept his face from burning under the hot sun and kept him hidden from other Aradacko who could be nearby.

Mariko had tried to kill him in Kata—he could never get it out of his mind. Though he wished he could stop hiding, he wasn't about to let himself become prey again. Lax was a thing he couldn't afford, especially since he was not trained to defend himself.

He came to the stall that sold knives, but there was no sign of Alet, and the market had become busier—crowded with too many people, smelling of sweat.

He took a stroll around, keeping alert for the other flyers but staying focused on his search for Alet. Where would she go?

He followed a trail that led him away from most engagements, and he was glad for his height. If not for it, he would have drowned between the shoulders of men and women engrossed only in making money.

When he reached the edge of the bazaar and came into a residential area, he came across some children playing on the dirt road. They ran around the street without care, dust billowing in their haste. Their shouts and their laughter mirrored the market's noise, imitated by younger voices.

One child, a girl, swept by Jiro and nearly knocked into him, then ran off again without an apology—not even a glance.

A woman who stood in front of a house nearby sighed and shook her head. "These children are a punishment from the old kings," the woman said, looking to her neighbors. "We'll never get any peace around here," she mumbled as she swept the grime off the steps to her front door.