HEO 31

“Get lost, old man.”

Silver kicked the old man’s butt. The riffraffs stubbornly clung to them. The pickpockets and the muggers were especially persistent. They recognized Wolf and Red Eagle as clueless fools at first glance and launched a fierce attack.

Every time a pickpocket’s hand slashed inside Red Eagle’s robe or a mugger swung a hammer at Wolf’s back, Silver kicked them away. After over twenty kicks, the inn was right before them.

“Ugh, what a mess.”

Black Weasel kicked the inn door and walked inside. The inn tavern, its floor tilted like a shipwreck, wasn’t much different from the outside.

For starters, there were more animals than people. Sheep and goats wandered about here and there. Chickens clucked away in chicken coops stacked layer upon layer in one corner. In another corner, several male cats were fighting over a single female cat, kicking up clouds of dust. Dogs sat at the feet of customers tearing into meat, their eyes burning with desire. Feathers, sheep’s wool, cat hair, and dog hair floated everywhere.

This was a common winter scene in the stalls. Since not every barn could have a brazier, all animals except horses were brought inside at night. Silver looked quite fond of it, but the prince and his attendant, raised in the warm palaces of the southern lands, were profoundly shocked. The men who had marched undaunted through pickpockets and muggers now were shocked, as if they had crossed the gates of hell.

Bastards, what’s the big deal?

Silver pulled back his robe hood and surveyed the surroundings. People had gathered in the middle of the inn’s tavern, cheering as if a fight had broken out. In the far corner, a bald, muscular man hugged a barrel of liquor, bellowing like a starving bear (or so he thought he was singing). A woman with her pants pulled down to her knees stared at a mounted deer head on the wall, completely absorbed in masturbation.

In every way, they looked more pathetic than male cats fighting over a single female cat. The problem was that these drunks were warriors.

They all had their side shaved off and wore studded leather bracelets on their left wrists. The shaved sides were a hallmark of warriors from the southeastern region of Stoll. Red Eagle’s mother probably had the same haircut as these drunks before him.

This chaos was a festival celebration for warriors.  The counter area was also a racket. Behind a woman clutching the counter with both hands, a man was pounding away. Another man inside the counter polished glasses and shrugged his shoulders toward Black Weasel.

“It’s hell, right?”

“For warriors, it’s probably heaven. Got any rooms?”

“You can take any room on the third floor. The warriors are too drunk to make it past the second floor. Oh, and lodging is paid upfront.”

“One night. We’ll have breakfast and leave.”

The stairs creaked like a worn-out deck. Black Weasel kicked the first door he came to. Silver tapped the door of the adjacent room with the back of his hand and gestured toward the prince and his servant.

“You two sleep here.”

He entered the room and closed the door. Surprisingly, the narrow, dim interior had a fireplace. Silver flopped onto the bed without even removing his robe. Perched on the adjacent bed, Black Weasel pulled something from inside his wolfskin.

“Silver! Let’s have some of this.”

Silver simply turned his head to look. In Black Weasel’s hand was a hallucinogenic herb.

“Wow! Where’d you get that?”

“I snatched it when those beggar brats offered it earlier. Go get a light.”

Black Weasel had raised Silver since he was six, but his parenting style could never be called exemplary, even by Stoll standards. He taught Silver to drink alcohol when he was seven. Once he turned eight, he taught him more dangerous things and enjoyed them together.

Silver lit the hallucinogenic herb with the fireplace fire and brought it over. The assassin and his assistant sprawled on the bed while sucking on the hallucinogenic herb. Silver’s consciousness faded.

Everything around him melted softly. Colors becao more vivid. Thoughts raced through his mind, only to suddenly freeze. The flow of time became irregular; sometimes a single moment felt like an eternity. Occasionally, unexpected laughter rang out.

This special moment, where the boundary between reality and fantasy blurred, regrettably did not last long. The hallucinogenic herb’s effects were short-lived. Longer than a rabbit’s stamina, but it was originally a herb favored as a sleeping aid. To prolong the ecstasy, one had to keep smoking multiple joints.

Black Weasel had stolen only two joints of the hallucinogenic herb. As Silver gradually drifted into dreamland, Black Weasel slurred,

“What are you doing, Silver… Suddenly… dancing… That girl beside you is pretty…”

“Just go to sleep… You idiot…”

“Silver… I, the servant… an interesting thought…”

“What now… Trying to insist you’re some pirate captain this time…?”

“No… I’ll cut off that bastard’s limbs…”

Huh?

“And offer them as a gift to Director Erem… draw some blood now and then… it has to work… Dammit, if it doesn’t work… I’ll personally chop that bastard to pieces with an axe…”

What the hell is this nonsense?!

All sleep vanished instantly. Silver held his breath, his eyes darted around. Black Weasel’s laughter soon turned into snoring.

One secret only Silver knew, unknown to Black Weasel: Black Weasel remembered absolutely nothing of the ramblings uttered while high on hallucinogenic herbs. And there wasn’t a single lie in those words.

Silver deliberately didn’t tell anyone about Black Weasel’s habit. While he had ulterior motives to use the information when needed, the bigger reason was that Black Weasel’s ramblings under the herb were always about women.

The woman he slept with last night, the woman he desperately wanted to sleep with, the woman he absolutely hated sleeping with, women, women, nothing but women. Yet this time, for the first time, information resembling intelligence had surfaced. And it was unsettling.

That Bingapsu bastard, why is he acting like that toward the servant?

Because the evil spirit possessing the servant upset him? No, that was too simplistic an explanation. There must be another reason.

Silver sifted through his memories. Only after combing through his mind did he find a clue. The point when Black Weasel’s attitude toward Wolf changed noticeably. It was after he returned from meeting Director Erem. Right from that moment, Black Weasel became interested in Wolf. He praised him lavishly, saying he was like the protagonist of a folktale.

He didn’t know what was what, but it was certain Director Erem was involved. The words Black Weasel had laid out also lent weight to Silver’s estimation.

‘And offer them as a gift to Director Erem… draw some blood now and then…’

Were Black Weasel and Director Erem conspiring to gleefully torture someone possessed by an evil spirit? No other reason came to mind. Director Erem’s basement came back to life before Silver’s eyes. The stale smell of blood. Dark brown organs preserved in glass jars. Dried ones, fragmented ones, stitched ones. On the walls, numerous knives, awls, scissors.

Only after stepping into that basement did Silver understand why Black Weasel, an assassin, associated with the orphanage matron. Erem was a butcher wearing the mask of a kind grandmother.

Silver gripped the blanket tightly.

Come daylight, he must drive the evil spirit out of the servant immediately.

* * *

The next day.

Black Weasel hadn’t stirred in bed until late morning. After inhaling hallucinogenic herbs and falling asleep, a deep slumber lasting over half a day ensued. Silver tiptoed out of the room.

“Huh?”

The moment he opened the door, he was startled. Wolf was crouched on the hallway floor. At the sound of him approaching, he raised his head and jumped to his feet. The skin under his eyes was dark and puffy, as if bitten by mosquitoes all night. Silver had been planning to find Wolf, so he approached cheerfully.

“Good to see you. You and I…”

[Silver. I need to talk to you.]

“Huh? What about?”

[…Atanian…Atanian. Silver.]

[Oh.]

Silver scratched the back of his head with one hand.

[Yeah, what is it? Let’s talk about it on the way down. What about the prince?]

[He’s probably still sleeping.]

That sounded odd. ‘He’s probably still sleeping’?

[You didn’t sleep with the prince? Did you spend the night outside his door guarding him?]

[I did stay up all night in the hallway. But it wasn’t to guard the prince.]

[Then why?]

When Silver asked again, Wolf shut his mouth. His face suddenly turned red as he glanced at Silver from the corner of his eye. Why is that bastard acting like that?