Waterfolk

Waterfolk

Waterfolk. He was running errands for waterfolk these days. Orgon sincerely hoped that none of his colleagues would ever find out – they would probably bust a gut laughing. And if their innards actually could take the strain of any excessive amusement, he swore to help the process along just a little bit.

Waterfolk. Pathetic, shivering, wide-eyed whimps. Always prattling, always insisting that any problem could be solved if people would just be reasonable and talk it over, always meddling in things that were none of their business. Mediation, they called it. Diplomacy. All for altruistic reasons, if you took their word for it. Orgon didn’t. He knew perfectly well that the first to benefit from the Waterfolk’s efforts were the Waterfolk themselves. After all, who would buy their silks and artworks and exquisite pastries if there was a war on? Goddamn lying hypocrites. No wonder they needed bodyguards.

Orgon was convinced that the only reason the Waterfolk’s town still remained on the face of the earth was that they had managed to find the most useless piece of ground in the entire world to build it on. Nobody else would be stupid enough to want this mess of temporary sand islands, sterile rock and endlessly streaming, muddy water. It was an ongoing miracle that the great river didn’t sweep it all away in spring, and half the population seemed to be continuously occupied with repairing, or just moving, bridges and walkways to keep up with the shifting delta. Idiots. Bloody stupid idiots.

Their only redeeming feature was an unfailing ability to pay good money for a good job. You had to give them that. Waterfolk always paid their bills. So here he was, selling his honest sword to those babbling idiots. If only that other job hadn’t turned sour… But it had, and Orgon had found himself out of money and out of favour very suddenly. He had had no choice but to get out of town real quick, and go so far that his creditors wouldn’t bother to follow. Far away, to find a job that would bring in some swift cash. To the Waterfolk.

So here he was, shepherding a skinny whelp who had run away from home and had to be brought back to mama and papa. Something about a girl; Orgon didn’t care about the details. What he did care about was that there was no shortage of people who wanted the kid dead. Several had already tried. The kid – babbling, of course, always this damned Waterfolk babbling – had tried to explain why everyone was out to get him, but all Orgon got out of it was something about a power struggle. He knew about those. Very good for business, usually. If he had known about it in advance he might have looked for a better hire with the other side. Still might, once the pup was safely delivered. Judging by what he had seen so far, they could certainly need some professional help.

A movement up ahead brought him abruptly out of his brooding, and he came instantly to full alert. ‘Quiet. We’re not alone.’

The pale little pup instantly froze in his tracks, and Orgon nodded to himself. At least the brat had learnt that much on the journey here. He recognised an order when he heard it, now.

He squinted ahead in the gloom. He had really hoped to avoid trouble by taking the route through the harbour, but apparently it was not to be. Damn. They were so close to their goal, just a few more blocks and they would have been safe in the upper quarters of town, one of the few places that was built on permanent rock. High enough and dry enough to have stone walls and even – wow – a guard tower. No killer would dare go there. At least not the milksop kind of killer he had encountered so far on this job. The palace guard was not quite as useless as the rest of the Waterfolk.

Over by a large warehouse, he could make out two or three dark shapes. A pale lantern by a tavern door behind them shed just enough light to show him a gleam of metal. No beggars, then, or dockworkers. Those were mercenaries. And just because the others had been pushovers, these need not be. Sooner or later he would run into competent opponents, and this might well be it.

No mistakes now. No time to lose. They would be spotted any moment. He grabbed the pup’s bony shoulder and dragged him a few steps to the side, to the quay’s edge. ‘In you go,’ he whispered cheerfully. ‘It’s a bit mucky, but you’ll manage. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to come back up.’

The lad stiffened, apparently horrified. ‘No,’ he hissed back, a word he actually hadn’t used for a couple of days. Weak, slender fingers clutched at Orgon’s sleeve. ‘No, I can’t, there m- must be another way.’

‘There isn’t.’ Orgon took a deep breath. ‘Prince Evendi, an awful lot of people are looking for you. Most of them will kill you on sight. The rest will hold you for ransom. So, when I tell you to do something, you just do it. Now.’ He gave Evendi a hard shove.

Normally, that should have been enough to send him staggering in whatever direction Orgon desired, but this time he showed surprising tenacity. He clung to Orgon’s arm and stared up at him with wide, pale eyes. ‘No, please,’ he whispered. ‘If it’s Kanto’s men I can talk to them, he has nothing to gain by killing me, there are things he doesn’t know, if I could only explain to them…’ The hysterical babble faded only when the cub needed a new breath, but all he used it for was to go on prattling. ‘Don’t do this, don’t make me do it, please – ‘

Orgon pushed a little harder, and the whining voice was cut off first by a gasp and then by a splash. A rather loud splash; it attracted the mercenaries’ attention. They came sauntering towards him, trying to look unhurried and nonchalant, but he knew they weren’t. They were desperate. If they didn’t find little prince Puppy, they would be out of a job very soon, and their employer would be disappointed. Always a bad idea for a mercenary, disappointing the guys who paid the bills. Orgon could certainly vouch for that, based on recent experience.

He went to meet them, to put some distance between the confrontation and the water behind him. At least the pup had sense enough not to continue arguing from his unfortunate position. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Orgon called out. ‘What can I do for you tonight?’

‘Your can tell us who you were talking to right now,’ one of them answered. An impressive helmet covered his face, but the voice betrayed him. He probably wasn’t old enough to shave yet. And if he was doing the talking, he was most likely the eldest of the group.

Orgon shook his head in disbelief. Puppies, he was surrounded by yapping puppies wherever he went. Had the wars killed off all the real men already, or was the Waterfolk’s patheticness catching? But at least it meant that there wasn’t going to be any confrontation, after all. The little princeling had got his clothes all muddied up for nothing. ‘I wasn’t talking to anyone but myself,’ he replied. ‘I do that when I feel lonely. You wouldn’t want to keep a man some company now, would you?’ He put a hand on his sword hilt and produced a broad grin. ‘For a fair price, of course.’

It was almost amusing to see the shock revealed in their postures, if not their hidden faces. Their - spokesboy? – tried to look mortally offended. ‘I’ll thank you not to take that tone with me,’ he said. ‘I asked you who you were talking to.’

‘I heard you,’ Orgon said pleasantly.

There was a pause. Orgon could not quite see their eyes move, but he knew that they were exchanging glances. Then they apparently decided to proceed as if he had actually given them the reply they asked for, for the same guy spoke again. ‘Where are you heading? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?’

‘Looking for company,’ Orgon answered. ‘Anything young and beardless will do. Can’t be too picky these days.’ He made sure his leer couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted.

The spokesboy made a grab for his weapon, but Orgon was ready. He had his own blade out in a flash, and the point right under the lad’s chin before any of the three could stop him. ‘You won’t be needing that,’ he said. ‘And don’t look so mad, I said I would pay you a fair price and I will.’ He shrugged a little. ‘Do you offer two for the price of one? It is a pretty cold night.’

They just stared at him, open-mouthed under their just-too-large helmets. Then they fled. They flung a few lame insults at him when they felt that they had reached a safe distance, and held that ground for a little while to see what he would do. Orgon took two steps in their direction, and they flinched like rabbits, and like rabbits they ran.

He waited until they had disappeared around the corner. Then he waited a while longer, in case they actually had more brains than he’d given them credit for. When the quay had remained dark and silent for some time, he went back to the edge and peered into the mucky water. ‘Come up now, princeling,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Time to get you to your castle.’

He got no response. He hunched down and looked closer, but saw no sign of the whelp. Something went very cold inside him, and he could only stare in disbelief. There was absolutely nothing there. Just water; a black, unbroken surface and the smooth, vertical wall of the stone quay. No muddy little youth treading water. No pale hands clinging to the stone.
Orgon shook his head and reconsidered his plans for the evening. After all, Waterfolk always paid their bills. They also had an annoying habit of getting paid, in blood or gold. Time to leave again. With no money, and yet another town he would have to avoid for a long time to come.

It was unfair. Orgon had done an excellent job, he knew he had. He had tracked the little princeling down in spite of some clever tricks the pup had played to confuse his trail, kept him safe from hired killers for three sleepless days and nights, brought him all the way to his home but for a few more bridges. His job had been done, damn it. He had earned that money. And now this. Something completely unforeseen, unforeseeable. Unfair. Prince Evendi, heir to the throne of the Waterfolk, couldn’t swim.