The Blue Moon - 7. Chapter 7

Josel

Plinkinenkak was a stowaway on the ship - and now Zal's prisoner! It was a lot to think about. Josel hurried from the deck to the cabin. He found Zdain in his bunk, sipping a hot drink from a large mug. A smile crossed the boy's pale face as Josel rushed in.

Zdain's good spirit was new to Josel. Monteilon seemed to have completely forgotten their old animosities, and was infinitely grateful to Josel for dragging him to safety from Marta's cellar. It was nice, but a little surprising.

"Now I have some news to tell you," Josel said, sitting down on the bunk next to Zdain. Excited and a little confused, he began to explain what had happened on deck.

"A servant of the Shadow Cross! Do you think Zal was telling the truth about Plinkinenkak?"

"I guess so," Josel said. "Ragart would probably have chopped her pieces on the deck if Zal hadn't stopped him."

Zdain replied with a laugh, so Josel went on. "We need to find out what's going on. The Blue Moon, Zal's actions, Ragart's talk about those camps, and now Plinkinenkak. There are a bit too many secrets here."

"Yes, but how? Zal won't tell us anything."

"No one else on this ship either. I've already tried to get information from the captain, but to no avail," Josel admitted.

Zdain scratched his temple thoughtfully. "We must take advantage of this situation. You mentioned this guard duty... let's ask Plinkinenkak then. If she really is the best assassin or spy in the Empire, she'll know a thing or two about what Zal is up to."

Josel nodded in agreement, Monteilon was quick-witted. If Zal refused to reveal anything himself, his secret would have to be found out some other way. "You know the language of the South, don't you? The woman will be more trusting if you speak to her in her mother tongue," Josel said.

"I don't think a shade commando trusts anyone... besides, I don't speak the southern language very well," Zdain said dismissively, looking a little embarrassed.

"Where did you learn it, by the way?" Josel asked.

Zdain's reaction was odd: he looked away and muttered, staring at the mug in his hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Oh," was all Josel could say, feeling like a fool. What on earth had he done wrong? Why was Monteilon suddenly acting weird?

To say something else, Josel changed the subject. "What do these shade commandos do, anyway?" he asked, immediately berating himself for revealing his ignorance to Zdain.

The brown-haired boy did not scoff, but seemed grateful for the new topic of conversation. "The shade commandos are a highly trained group within the Shadow Cross. Some other organizations may hire shade commandos too, but the Shadow Cross has the best of them. Every single one of them has gone through years of training. They're taught to track a target, hide in the shadows, and kill people in dozens of different ways. I'm told that a good shade commando is also at least a pickpocket, an acrobat and a phenomenal liar." Zdain ended his speech with a sudden coughing fit, indicating that the disease had not yet been completely conquered.

"Should I leave if you want to rest?" Josel asked.

Zdain shook his head between coughs. "Don't go. Let's talk."

Josel shrugged and remained seated.

Soon Zdain looked at Josel again and then asked a surprising question: "I've always wondered why you're so blond. Is your family from Malkania?"

Josel laughed. "You're not the first person to ask me that. I really don't know. Mom and Dad always said our family came from somewhere in the West. I suppose that could mean Malkania, but I like to think of myself as a Dimali. It's quite a curse to look like this, so different from the others."

"Come on, Sandkan. I think you look... it would be nice to be that blond," Zdain said, blushing.

"Whatever," Josel said, shrugging. "I suppose I'll be remembered this way, if nothing else." For some reason, sitting on Zdain's bed was becoming uncomfortable. Josel shifted awkwardly, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Zdain's next question, however, forced Josel to sharpen his focus. "Isn't it a bit strange that your parents didn't tell you more?"

"Yes, it is," Josel replied, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. "I'm used to not knowing anything. Like about the Blue Moon and all this other stuff."

"They think we are little children," Zdain said with a wry smile.

Josel nodded, and then they both fell silent.

The air in the cabin seemed thick. Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about. Except the one topic Josel had been avoiding for so long. He glanced from under his brows to the other end of the bed and said: "Zdain... you know... I haven't been very good to you."

Zdain opened his mouth slightly as if to say something. Josel raised his hand in refusal. He didn't want Monteilon to say something reassuring. No, Josel wanted to finish his point, difficult as it was. "I apologize. For all those punches and taunts. Both in Paidos and on the road."

Josel met Zdain's brown eyes, in which he could not read the thoughts.

When Zdain finally spoke, his voice was soft and the expression on his face warm, perhaps even touched. "You are forgiven. For everything," he said.

There was a lump in Josel's throat and he had no idea what to do. His hands fumbled restlessly in his pockets and his foot drummed on the floor. It was impossible to think of anything appropriate to say.

Zdain was the first to speak. "Thanks for keeping me company all these days. It hasn't been so lonely..."

"I thought it might be a way to make up for what I've done to you," Josel hastened to reply. He wanted to get out of this awkward situation over which he had no control.

Zdain stared ahead for a moment, then spoke in a strange-sounding voice: "Oh, you mean like a compensation? You've been nice to me because you think you owe me something?"

"Yeah, that's why. I'm in debt. All that at Marta's house, they hurt you because of me..."

"No. You don't owe me anything. Nothing," Zdain said numbly, his eyes on the floor of the cabin. "Could you leave me alone? I'm tired."

Josel's mind went blank. Confused, he obeyed and got out of bed. Still at the door, he glanced back and saw Zdain staring fixedly at the wall.

In the cabin corridor, Josel tried to gather his thoughts. Just a few words and Zdain was like he had been stung by a bee. Why was everything so damned difficult with Zdain Monteilon?

Once on the deck of Princess, Josel kicked the side of the ship with all his might and flashed an insulting gesture with his fingers at the sailor who had come to scold him.

* * *

Josel spent the rest of the afternoon outside his cabin. If Zdain wanted to rest alone, so be it. They had been spending a lot of time together lately, so distance was clearly necessary. Zdain was simply too well-bred to say it outright. That must be the reason...

When he returned to the cabin that evening, Zdain responded to Josel's greeting with a quiet grunt. Then he rolled over on his bunk, face to the wall. Although Zdain lay motionless, it was clear that he was only pretending to be asleep.

A bitter silence had made its nest in the cabin. As Josel drifted off to sleep in the upper bunk, he missed his chatty companion of the past couple of days.

* * *

The morning did not bring good old Zdain. He did answer Josel's questions and might say something of his own accord, but was otherwise spiritless and quickly averted his eyes when Josel tried to meet them. An inquiry as to whether anything was wrong was met with a dismissive shake of the head. Unable to think of anything else to do, Josel finally left Zdain alone and went up to the deck to wander around.

He did not have long to watch the wooded landscape pass by before Melgy appeared. "It's your turn to guard the dwarf. Ragart awaits you in the hold. What are you waiting for? Get going!"

Their time together had not shaken off Melgy's rudeness, but Josel was not in the mood to argue with the woman. Guarding Plinkinenkak might even bring a welcome change from the deadly dull routine of the ship. At least he wouldn't have to listen to Melgy's barking or watch Zdain's pouty face for a while.

The stale, damp air stunk unpleasantly in Josel's nostrils as he descended the steep wooden stairs to the cargo hold. It was located midship, below the crew quarters. Since Princess was not a large vessel, the cargo hold was by no means huge either.

Captain Soldeimon had mentioned that this time the cargo was mostly cloth, which had been loaded into the hold at Ipalos only moments before the unrest began.

Josel raised the lantern he held in his hand and shone it on the rolls of cloth. A narrow passage between them led to the rear of the hold where Plinkinenkak was kept.

Timos Soldeimon had said that he intended to trade the textiles for a good price in an upstream port. After that, Princess would either return downstream with a new cargo, or sail the river route to Lake Towns and all the way to Dimalos.

The thunder of the paddle wheels was loud inside the hold. Josel wondered if the prisoner could sleep during the day at all. At night, when the ship lies at anchor, Zal might order Marl or Ragart to poke Plinkinenkak with a needle to keep her awake.

When Josel reached the stern, he realised that the idea of torturing the dwarf was not far from the truth. Plinkinenkak, crouched on the floor, was tied tightly to an upright log. Ragart stood astride in front of his prisoner, glaring at her. His face was red and twisted with rage.

The merchant spotted Josel. "It's about time. Do what you want with this lying piece of shit," Ragart said, spitting at Plinkinenkak without hitting her.

"Just missed, you fat rat!" Plinkinenkak yelled. "Did you also spit on Deputy Nemendov's daughters while raping them?"

Ragart turned pale in an instant, his face contorting into an ugly grimace. Then he attacked Plinkinenkak, slapping and punching her. As the blows came, she made no sound, which made the situation even more horrifying to watch.

The assault was over as quickly as it had started. As a result, Plinkinenkak's lip was split, blood dripped from her nose and the corner of her eye was bright red. Despite this, a mocking grin shone on the woman's face. She let out a gurgling snort and tossed her head back. Then she spat, sending a chipped piece of tooth snapping against the floorboards.

Sweat poured down Ragart's cheeks as he gasped loudly. "If Zal hadn't told me not to, I'd kill you," he huffed before leaving without a glance at Josel.

Josel found himself trembling. This outrageous allegation of raping women... Was it just a lie? But why had Ragart gone so badly off the rails about it? It was hard to decide what to believe.

It was hard to look at a battered prisoner. Plinkinenkak had dropped to the floor, as if she had let her guard down only after Ragart's disappearance. She snorted, and more blood spurted from her nostrils onto her stained chest.

After a moment, Josel pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and raised it to wipe Plinkinenkak's face.

But Plinkinenkak's furious shrieks stopped him. "Are you going to beat me up too? Come on, then! Show me what you're made of, you goldilocks!"

"I don't hit women, especially when they're tied up."

"You're scared, aren't you? You're afraid of a dwarf in a rope. You're a miserable wimp."

"I told you I won't hit you!" Josel jumped to his feet and turned away from the prisoner. Now he somehow understood why Ragart had gone off the deep end. Plinkinenkak seemed to be doing everything she could to make her guard lose his temper. Josel decided not to play along. If Plinkinenkak's wish was to be beaten to death, Ragart would have to carry it out, not Josel.

Silence fell over the cargo hold. Josel sat down on the floor at a safe distance from the prisoner. Plinkinenkak had closed her eyes and leaned her head against the stake she was tied to. A long time passed.

Unexpectedly, Plinkinenkak opened her eyes. "Josel, Josel," she began, focusing her gaze on her guard. "I never thought I'd see you again after I managed to sneak out of the cellar window and you two were left at the mercy of that beast. Oh, I watched from the safe side of that same window. I take it back, you're no wimp. Quite a brave and clever lad to escape from the cellar. It saved you, because I wouldn't have risked my life to help you. Hah, don't look at me like that. No shade commando would sacrifice herself in such a situation. You heard on the deck how I was called a lackey of the Shadow Cross, a vile creature, a loathsome little swine. So why are you still trying to play nice with me? Does the old crank Zal think he can steal information from me with your help?"

"I don't care about Zal's affairs."

Plinkinenkak spat out a blob of blood onto the wooden floor. "You don't care..." she began in a brooding tone. "But you should care what Zaltarim Fizol does. He is, after all, one of the last surviving followers of Laftakom Greyhand."

"The last of whom?"

The woman's bloody lips curled into a smile. "Didn't they tell you anything, poor thing? Of course not. A devious bastard like Zal doesn't reveal his secrets to a little boy. Luckily you're with Plink, who happens to know a thing or two about him. Thank your lucky stars I followed you to the dock and dove into the river when this hulk cast off from the quay. The anchor chain made it easy to slip into the ship unnoticed. The great Zaltarim Fizol has become an old fool."

"How do you know him?" Josel asked, not bothering to hide his curiosity.

"Who wouldn't know Grandpa Jackdaw, no matter how much he may avoid the publicity," Plinkinenkak said with a high-pitched laugh. "Zaltarim Fizol was a young man when he joined the brotherhood gathered by a man called Laftakom Greyhand. There were fourteen members in all. Each more intelligent than the last, the best minds in the inhabited world, they said. But the truth was different. What Laftakom didn't realise was that his followers were not only intelligent, but also scheming. Some of them betrayed and killed their master. Our Zal escaped from his pursuers, for whom he sought revenge. As the decades passed, he became more and more delusional in his thirst for vengeance and began to see enemies everywhere. I suppose you know that Zal is hunting those faceless monsters?"

When Josel nodded, Plinkinenkak continued: "They are not the only ones Zal is after. He is also obsessed with the fallen. Do I need to explain what they are? Okay, good... So he hunts and kills those who have sworn allegiance to the Darkness. Unfortunately, Zal hasn't focused solely on eliminating the fallen. In his delusions, he has begun to see the fallen in places where they do not exist. Many innocent people have been murdered because of it."

Plinkinenkak paused for a moment before continuing. "I noticed that you were anchored in Maidor. Needless to ask, did you have a meeting with Izaskar Ksellendor?"

"That man is cracked," Josel interjected.

"Maybe, but Zal is the more unstable of the two. Not even the mad Izaskar wants to associate himself with his plans. Not even though they were both Laftakom Greyhand's loyal servants long ago."

"Yes, Izaskar was also a member of Laftakom's Brotherhood," Plinkinenkak replied to Josel's silent question. "Zal believes that he can track down his former peers who have betrayed their vows to the Brotherhood. Along the way, he slaughters everything in his path. This man is dangerous and someone must stop him before it's too late."

"Too late?" Josel repeated, not knowing what to think.

"Yes, it also says something that many of them, who also fight against the forces of the Darkness, don't trust Zal. I don't know if I should voice my doubts out loud... since you trust Zal..." Plinkinenkak interrupted, sounding uncertain.

"I don't trust him," Josel denied, moving closer to the prisoner.

Plinkinenkak looked at him with her sharp eyes, one swollen from being hit by Ragart. "Good, because malicious rumors have it... that Zal himself is a fallen." Plinkinenkak's voice was ominously oppressive, and Josel instinctively flinched backwards. Zal? A fallen?

The spell held for a while before it broke. Josel shook his head in denial. "That's too far. You just admitted he hunts the faceless and the fallen."

Plinkinenkak snorted. "Is that all he tells you he does? What if he has other plans? Much worse."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why should you believe Zal. What has he told you about his intentions or about himself? Doesn't he seem to be hiding something?" replied Plinkinenkak, staring fixedly with her black eyes.

"Tell me more," Josel asked, his throat dry.

"Some other time. I'm tired now. That fatty trinket dealer wore me out. Consider my words and let me rest now." With that, Plinkinenkak closed her eyes, not opening them again until Melgy arrived an hour later to relieve Josel of his guard duty.

While Plinkinenkak dozed, Josel had time to think. It was easy to see that the small shade commando was using every means at her disposal to win over the others. Josel would not be that gullible. But even so... Zal had done nothing to be trustworthy.

He had to find out more about Zal and his comrades. Ragart's outburst had been a warning sign. If even half of Plinkinenkak's claims were true, Josel had no intention of staying with Zal's crowd for more than the blink of an eye.

What did it mean that the others fighting the Darkness didn't trust Zal? On the other hand, Zal himself had vaguely mentioned that he did not work for the Blue Moon and had spoken negatively of the organisation. Josel's mind was racing and he was not sure of anything anymore.

If only Dad were here. Andreuz Sandkan would certainly have an opinion about Zal, who had told Josel that he had met his father. Zal had also refused to say anything more about it. In any case, one thought grew stronger in Josel's mind: Zal couldn't be trusted.

* * *

Back on deck, Josel found Zdain eating in the mess hall. He nodded in greeting and joined him. The deaf cook had managed to prepare a tasty bean stew, but Josel was not hungry. He moved the food around on his plate, suspicious thoughts running through his mind. Zdain looked at him questioningly, but did not speak. Nor did Josel have any desire to confide Plinkinenkak's words to his friend. Not until Zdain stopped sulking and became his normal self again.

* * *