The Charlatan

18. The Chicard

Air had been surprised that Clara hadn't murdered him right then and there. He had meant to continue, to explain himself and his actions, but she had merely held up her hand after hearing his first sentence. Her eyes shone with disappointment. She refused to speak on the matter further and walked away, leaving Air with Honey by the entrance to the first city they had found that was not in pieces.

Air watched Clara amble through the gate, stopping briefly to identify herself to the guards. She moved with purpose. Perhaps I was too honest too soon. Air chuckled darkly. "I knew that taking the advice of a Seer would pan out this way," he said loud enough for Honey to hear. The dishevelled girl scowled back at him.

"You know of the Spirits as well," she said. "I don't understand what you have against those of us who have learned to perceive them."

"There are things that should not be meddled with," Air replied. "The dead are dead. Protecting us I will accept, but blurring the line between Planes of existence is foolish." Honey did not answer him and instead turned to look after where Clara had gone. An uncomfortable tension filled the air between the two Genesese. It was Air who faltered first, and with a frustrated huff he approached the guards.

"I'm with the young Veltie lady," he stated simply, earning him unamused looks from the two guards closest to him. They looked at each other, then lengthily back at him, as if sizing him up, before parting slightly and allowing him safe passage between them.

He figured that Clara did not want to be bothered at the moment, but he also knew from his time with her that she was not particularly stable when it came to relationships with others. It was as the Seer-bandit had said, she had trust issues. Something had happened to her; Air had known this before she had said so herself. Everything she had said and done back in Dehi revealed that to him. She shouldn't be left alone right now.

Air stopped and turned back towards the main gate. He waited. It was a few minutes before Honey passed through. How she did, with her facial scars clearly screaming "dangerous bandit," Air didn't know, but that was not what Air wished to speak with her about.

"Honey," he began. The Seer stopped in her tracks and looked at him strangely, likely because this was the first time he had addressed her by name. "We have our differences, and I believe I speak for both of us when I say that I feel trust does not exist between us." Honey said nothing. Air continued, "You do not strike me as particularly comforting, to speak plainly, but I know that if I speak to Clara right now one of us will lose our head, whether figuratively or literally. I've known her for a while longer than you, and I know that she's frightened out of her mind, though I don't know precisely why. She has... broken down alone before," Air recalled Clara's hopeless sobs back when they had been buried by cave-in in Dehi, "Can you...?"

Air did not have to finish speaking, as Honey's eyes softened and she nodded her head. Air was too startled by this change in character to continue, but it seemed that Honey had gotten the message because she grinned and brushed past him resolutely. He sighed and brought his hand to his temple. He was exhausted.

Air wandered around the town, aimlessly observing. There was a line of very able-bodied persons trailing out the door of the local armoury. A group of young men, likely no older than Air, stomped out with pistols and knives hanging in their sheaths at their sides. The men were lean and muscular, easily carrying a tonne of thick gear embossed with the insignia of the Genesese army between them. Player pianos crackled inside shops, playing out-of-tune national ditties that hurt Air's ears. Buskers had been replaced by recruiters, and the main streets were clear of any foreigners. Genesis was gearing up for war. Air hobbled up to a recruiter on the street corner – a young man who flashed him a toothy grin.

"Where will I find the nearest warm bed?" Air asked. The recruiter turned and pointed around the corner.

"Most of our inns are stocked up, but if you don't mind sharing with someone, I'm sure you can find something. As long as you don't mind being a bit on the chillier side of warm. I'm also not the town crier, so I'm not exactly the best person to ask," the recruiter replied with rather exuberant sarcasm. Air barely suppressed his chuckle and thanked him with a grin. The young man raised an eyebrow in response. "Though I can certainly promise I can keep you warm." Air nearly choked.

"Hah! Not a very good line, I'd wager... Ah, well," the young recruiter sighed, more amused than embarrassed.

"No," Air agreed, recovering quickly. "You are also on duty, it seems. Have you been asking every handsome lad who toddles your way to relieve you from your post early?" The young man merely shrugged.

"Just the one," he answered. Air regarded him with an amused curiosity. The atmosphere around the town was far from light-hearted, and Air himself had not cracked humour in weeks. A damned military recruiter is reminding me to cheer up. Air considered the irony.

"How about a drink first? And a chat," Air offered. "I've been away from home for a while, could use a pick-me-up, and by the looks of it," he glanced around at the townsfolk scurrying about, "You could use a break from this deathly heavy atmosphere." The young recruiter smiled and stepped around the corner, motioning for Air to follow.

The pair were sitting outside a local bar, enjoying a quiet space on the patio the young man had somehow bribed the barkeeper into opening just for them.

"I'm Heron," the young man introduced himself as he shuffled against the brick wall of the building.

"Air."

"What's kept you from home?" Heron asked. Air paused before answering.

"Travelling."

"Uh-huh..." Heron threw him a knowing glance. "It's a shame you've come back to see this foul shit," he said. Air sighed.

"I expected it," he answered truthfully.

"Hm. The Charlatan made their way to where you were too, I reckon?"

"Indeed." Air absent-mindedly twisted the bottom of his shirt. "Do you think..." he started after a long pause, "If the Charlatan was found, would Genesis back down?" Heron made a strange face.

"Back down? Velt started this by slaying thousands of innocent lives at the border, just because they're too proud to give up their land to us in exchange for forgiveness of their debt. They brought this upon themselves. The Spirits cry for retribution," Heron put down his empty glass, "Velt is bankrupt! If the Charlatan was found, I'd wager that Genesis would throw them a parade. They've given us the power and the courage we need to stop running our mouths and start committing to action," he said.

Air bit his lip. A few months ago, this was exactly what he had wanted. Genesis, a country so aggravatingly bureaucratic, took centuries to negotiate and make decisions. It was that slow decision-making that had let his brother die. Air had been frustrated, and so he did what he did best – entertain. Cymbals in hand, calligraphy pen in mouth, Air was ready to embarrass the overly haughty country obsessed with wealth with the ultimate spoof. Now here he was, the Great Swindler, the Charlatan, sipping spirits not to the tune of laughter, not even of justice, but of guilt and death.