Sketcher's Row [Prototype]

Act I / Chapter III

Everybody knew Henrab when he "came". Nobody knew Henrab when he departed once again for the solitude of his compound, separate from the mines, but close enough to actively monitor the flow of sillingrock.

When he came on Soal's sixth day, the present ewyk stood by his side and ordered all of the charks -- awake and asleep -- to attend, and to listen closely, even though Henrab stood on a raised platform many feet from the charks. The mediocre acoustics of the unspectacular room he had consolidated them in hardly helped.

Soal was lucky to be close to Henrab's platform. But he had not been lucky enough recently; his stomach ached hungrily and vigorously, and his mind mimicked it with continued bafflement at the world he now seemed to inhabit.

From Soal's observation, Henrab looked little like a ewyk. He was twice as tall as one and much huskier, clad in a patched cloak over several other layers of clothing, and wearing a hood composed of a material resembling fur. His boots -- unlike those of his fellow birds, which were designed to accommodate for their pedal claws -- looked like a human's, only with holes sliced for the talons of his feet to emerge. His small eyes were mostly obscured by saggy wrinkles, as was a majority of his face, with the exception of the blunt, darkly colored beak at its center.

"Allow me to tell you something about life," he grated. "Something you may already know.

"It exists only to torment us. No one on our level is exempt from this rule -- not even me. As charks, your responsibility is to guarantee the enlightened the right to surpass that rule, and in doing so, you reinforce its grip on yourselves. So it has been for all ten thousand years since the birth of the 'Blink'.

"I say all of this because -- cough -- there is dire news afoot. An eight-frame chark has died thirteen footsteps from the vault. The site will be cleared, and the weekly addition to the vault will be held with greater security. It is your own opinion as to whether or not you would like to put yourself in this anonymous girl's anatomically attached shoes. But one thing can be proven: the more you contribute to the vault, the closer you will be to your desired endpoint, be that in life or death." And then he coughed violently for fifteen seconds; before he disappeared into his compound in a shorter length of time.

The ewyk interpreter Soal recognized took her turn to speak. "The preceding speech will be abridged to better suit your level of maturity," she cawed. "Keep looking for shiny stones. And never stop looking; then your dreams might come true."

Everybody knew Henrab when he came.

Nobody knew Henrab when he departed.

*     *     *

One evening per week, the collected sillingrock from the mines was melted down, processed, and cooled into a liquid, simply known as silling. The week's silling was then privately dispensed into an immense, impenetrable vault in the most abysmal recesses of the mines, through a minuscule aperture at the seat of a funnel. The ewyk pouring the silling there had only a shred of what could be within the vault: more silling, perchance. Henrab was aware there was more silling inside. What he refused to disclose those in service to him was what else there could be. Whatever that thing was, certainly it was valuable enough for a chark to be murdered merely for approaching it.

No chark knew any of this, of course. And even Henrab knew not the perpetrator of the slayings. Indeed, slayings; multiple had been committed that day.

For the purposes of clarification, it must be noted that every day for the past eleven months, Henrab would waddle "outside" (accompanied only for security) to oversee the raising of the Qorkan flag, for all above and beyond the mines to behold the symbolic pride of the east. He would stand solemnly with his right wing to his chest for a duration of precisely two minutes and forty-one seconds. He would gratefully consume the traditional Qorkan supper of Moas' eggs, roasted mushrooms and a dash of wine. He would organize his charks in the same conventional method as any Qorkan of the same trade. His "beard" had been fashioned to match that of his decades-deceased father's, which had been cut to match his father's, which had been cut to match his father's, which had been cut to match his father's, which had been cut to match his father's, which had been cut to match his father's, which had been cut to match that of a general who once repelled a foreign invasion (of Qorkas).

"Henrab, sir," a ewyk advisor bleated to him in his dining chamber. "Tidings. About the state of the state."

"Tell me something I want to hear," Henrab's words through the soup dripping from his mouth were muffled at best.

"Never mind, sir."

"No; stay here," Henrab completed his current serving, assertively laying down his iron spoon. "Who do you think you are to assume things of me like this? What have I told you that determines what I consider 'good' or 'bad'? Tell me."

"Nothing much, sir."

"Nothing much?"

"No, sir, nothing at all."

"Much better," Henrab leaned back in his rigid chair, barely supporting his weight. "Now, go on. The 'tidings'?"

"It's nothing, sir," the advisor whispered hesitatingly, Henrab's narrow eyes widening. "The tidings... all of our transmissions have abruptly cut off. I suspect..."

"Excuse me for interrupting," Henrab leaned forward to closely meet the eyes of his subservient. "First and foremost, must I make clear that there is only one 'I' in this room?"

"I understand."

"You mean...?"

"...Yes, sir."

"That's an improvement," Henrab reached for a small cabbage on his platter. "Secondly, the loss of transmissions. Answer me this: what use were they to us anyway?"

"Pivotal connections to the outside world..." the advisor shuddered, "the comfort of knowing when it would be in our best interests not to raise the flag."

There was a jolt down Henrab's spine, and he dropped the cabbage back onto its plate. "Elaborate."

"We need to go into hiding, sir. Otherwise they'll find us."

"That goes without saying, you know," Henrab wheezed.

"So, sir, what do you intend to do now? Let us all get incarcerated or killed... all because you can't breathe without the 'circles and streamers' up high?"

Henrab stood suddenly, his shadow towering over his advisor. "Such audacity," he bellowed, as calmly as one with Henrab's subtlety could. "Such chutzpah... Isn't it prevailing in crooks? Isn't it damning in reasonable men?"

The ewyk cowered, pangs of shame overtaking him as Henrab let out a cavalcade of coughs.

The master sat once again with similar promptness. "It's best, as for someone with a task as objective as carrying information," he sighed, "to be blunt without being brash."

The advisor nodded with his eyes to the table.

"...Where did you learn this? That communications ended?"

"A chark, sir."

"Forget everything, then. Everybody knows charks know the hearsay before everybody. Who told them?"

"No one did, sir. The transmissions ended. They learned... on their own."

"Don't be irrational. The little ones don't learn these things on their own, and nor do the charks. Not without an outlet."

The advisor remained steadfast in his gaze.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect this someday," Henrab grumbled. "You -- whatever your name -- you are officially dismissed. I'll take care of all this."