by Eyal Kless
Ramm seemed pleased to hear this, but Narona intervened and said Rafik had to be initiated into the Keenan crew first before he could be rented out.
Ramm’s jaw hardened at Narona’s words, and Rafik thought he might hit the woman the way he disciplined Bayne, but the crew leader said nothing all the way back to Keenan headquarters.
It was located in the seven-story tower at the southwest corner of the Hive. Rafik was given a nourishment pill and ordered to retire to his room, a windowless small chamber on the fourth floor, containing nothing more than a thin mattress, several rough blankets, and a bucket of lukewarm water. The light that was constantly emanating from the walls was weak and gloomy, barely lighting the room during the day but enough to keep Rafik awake for many hours at night. Bayne had told Rafik the constant light was a problem in the entire building, which the Keenans had the unfortunate luck of drawing when the Hive was created. “You’ll learn to sleep with it, or tie some cloth around your eyes,” Bayne had said before he left the boy on his own.
Rafik splashed water on his face, undressed, and prayed. He was suddenly feeling tired and dirty, and longed for a bath, even the painfully cold ones he had to take in the barn in his village. Narona had promised to bring Rafik to the showers in the bunker, where she said hot water poured from the taps like in the City of Towers, but so far she had not fulfilled her promise, and Rafik did not dare ask her again.
Two Keenan Trolls passed Rafik’s room as he recited his prayers to the Prophet Reborn.
“We’d better hurry.” Rafik did not recognise the troll’s voice. “Ramm’s cutting the Skint. Don’t want to be getting my share from the bottom of the bag, if you know what I mean.”
“Forget the bottom of the bag,” said the other as they stomped by Rafik’s door. “If we’re late Ramm will sniff both our shares for sure. His nostrils are as wide as his cannon’s calibre.”
The two laughed as they moved down the corridor.
Rafik lay down on the mattress and covered his body with the blankets. He curled into himself and closed his eyes, listening to the cricking noises the building made as it battled harsh winds outside. He was hoping that he could visit the wall of symbols in his dreams. Instead, the man with the melting face came to haunt Rafik yet again.
42
It had been more than a week and they were still stuck in the Hive. Brain changed the quota so the Keenans would have time to train with the new crew commander and the Puzzler, but aside from several visits to the shooting range, a fun ride around with Bayne on a Keenan Duster, and solving two puzzle boxes, there was nothing much to do. The rest of the day Rafik was confined to his chambers and almost went crazy with boredom. Gronn, the Keenans’ CommTroll, set his channels so he could listen to some of the Hive’s chatter, but after half a day of listening to crude jests and gossip Rafik decided he preferred silence. Bayne was avoiding Ramm as much as possible, and the rest of the Keenan crew seemed to feel uncomfortable around Rafik or simply were too busy cleaning their weapons, sniffing Skint, or noisily coupling with each other. Luckily, Ramm, in a rare moment where he was not staring into nothingness surrounded by green smoke, gave Rafik the permission to shower on his own, most likely just to piss off Narona and show her who was in charge.
On his way back from the shower, Rafik decided on a whim to visit the Chewing Hole, the Hive’s bar located on the second underground level, and see if Vincha might be there. He had overheard Maridas tell Bayne that the CommWoman was back from a long run to the edge of the Valley she had taken on the day they arrived at the Hive. Maridas also mentioned that he heard Vincha had coupled with every male member of that crew and that she hung around the Chewing Hole looking for more male company. This seemed to upset Bayne enough to trade insults with Maridas and walk away in a huff. Rafik did not know how he felt about Maridas’s remark, but Vincha was kind and fun to be around, in a Dominique kind of way, and she was Commander Doro’s girlfriend, which meant she must also be sad, and perhaps needed a friend.
The Chewing Hole reminded Rafik of Dominique’s bar, although it was much darker, lit only by small portable lamps and a multitude of candles. Loud music was playing through a diminutive CommTroll who was standing on a small dais. Several other male Trolls were surrounding two female mercenaries in front of the bar. Everyone moved about in an odd fashion, swaying around and jerking their bodies to the rhythm of the music with their eyes closed.
Since Rafik had no desire to purchase anything, and no coin to his name even if he did, he moved cautiously around the Trolls and away from the bar. He moved further in, looking for Vincha. A mixture of several dozen wooden and metal tables and chairs were set up. The room was distinctly divided between the different crews and guilds. Rough jests and insults were periodically exchanged between tables, but they were mostly in good spirit. No one seemed to want to start a bar fight over guild politics.
Vincha was nowhere to be seen, and Rafik felt he was beginning to attract attention. He turned to leave but stopped when he spotted a rugged-looking man in a corner, sitting at a small table. The man had no visible augmentations, which made him a distinct minority in a room full of Combat Trolls. He was bent over, his face, which almost touched the table, was hidden behind a wall of thin, oily hair. The boy hesitated, but his feet took several tentative steps towards the odd man before he had time to consider whether this was a wise move. As he got closer Rafik heard the high-pitched squeak of metal scraping metal, which made his skin prickle.
Before he could say anything, a heavyset Troll got up on his feet from an adjacent table and moved to stand next to the man. The Troll leaned down and grasped the man’s arm with his own metal gauntlet.
“If I have to tell you to stop that noise one more time, rust-brain,” the Troll snarled above the loud music, “I will cut off your arm and make you eat it.”
The man shrunk even further in his chair, saying nothing, his free arm covering his head as if he was afraid the Troll would slap him. Satisfied, the Troll released the man and walked back to his drink. As soon as he turned his back, the man snarled, exposing yellow and brown teeth. Rafik thought he would pounce on the Troll, but the man’s rage was short-lived. He leaned back against the wall and sighed, closing his eyes.
Rafik stood by a stool at the opposite end of the table. The man still had his eyes shut tight under a furrowed brow. His clothes were black from dirt and dust, and he stank of unwashed sweat and urine. Rafik grimaced.
He uttered hesitantly, “Is this seat free?”—a phrase he’d overheard many times when working for Dominique.
The man opened his eyes slowly, looking at the boy without moving his head from the wall. His pupils were so small he almost seemed blind, like old Mama Gaudu back in the village.
The old man slowly straightened up. Without saying a word, he gestured with his head and watched Rafik take a seat on the other side of the table.
“I am—” Rafik hesitated “—new here.”
The man blinked several times, then pointed at himself with a hand which, Rafik now noticed, was holding a rusty nail, and said, “Pikok.”
The nail-holding hand travelled back down to the table and began to slowly move along the tracks he’d already carved. Rafik followed the motions of his hand. When he realised what he was seeing, he felt his heart leap up into his throat.
The entire surface of the table was filled with the symbols Rafik had seen in his dreams. He reached with a trembling hand to touch the symbols, but Pikok lunged forward, grasping Rafik’s outstretched hand and pulling it close to his own face.
“Hey,” Rafik yelped and instinctively closed his hand into a fist. “Stop that, let me go.” With a strong yank Rafik pulled himself free, rising to his feet in the process, but what Pikok lacked in power he made up for in speed. As Rafik turned to flee he was already blocking his way. The thin man grasped Rafik’s shoulder with his left hand and spread his right hand in front of the boy’s face.
“Pi . . . Pi . . . Pikok,” he stuttered excitedly. “Pa . . .
Pa . . . Puzzler.”
Rafik looked at the man’s hand and the world swam around him. It was filled with markings all the way down to his wrists, but the symbols on Pikok’s fingers mirrored his own.
43
“Where are we going?”
Pikok did not respond. From the moment he’d motioned Rafik to follow, Pikok had not answered any of the boy’s questions. They traversed a maze of underground corridors. Whenever Rafik hesitated, the thin man would stop and gesticulate wildly for him to follow until the boy relented. Only under the glare of the Tarakan lights in the corridor did Rafik realise how unkempt and unnaturally thin Pikok was. He looked sick and malnourished, and his stride was hindered by a limp, but it was obvious he was just as excited to meet Rafik as the boy was to meet him. His movements were sharp and animated, and he would grunt or moan to himself every few steps. Soon they were far below ground. Rafik remembered he had forgotten his towel in the Chewing Hole, but it was too late to turn back.
The walls were not made of metal anymore but of stone, and there was so little of the dim artificial light that most of the time they were enveloped in darkness. Rafik followed Pikok with growing trepidation. There was something disturbing, even repulsive, about the man. He was afraid that at any moment Ramm or Narona would come looking for him, but his Comm was quiet, and curiosity won over fear.
A narrow flight of stairs led them even farther down until they reached a puzzle-locked door. Without hesitation, Pikok shoved his fingers into the lock. He let out a soft sigh and his eyes glazed over. Master Goran never used the puzzle boxes, at least not in front of Rafik, so it was the first time Rafik saw what he must look like when he was in a puzzle. He waved a hand in front of Pikok’s face but there was no reaction.
The door suddenly buzzed and parted open as Pikok let out a gasp and tried to steady himself with a hand against the wall. He lost his balance, flailing his arms wildly. Rafik caught the man just before he toppled to the ground and almost gagged at the stench emanating from him. Pikok’s arm was so thin it felt as if Rafik could break it like a twig. With this, any fear of what the man could do to him dissipated. Pikok regained his composure, smiled at Rafik—exposing a row of rotting teeth—and pointed at the lock.
“Ha . . . ha . . . hard,” he stuttered, but there was obvious pride in his demeanour.
Suddenly, Rafik felt something brush past him. He jumped and turned, letting out a yelp of surprise and fear, but saw nothing. Confused, he tried to convey what he felt to Pikok, but the man pushed him excitedly through the door as it began to close.
The place was large and completely dark; the only source of light was the soft illumination from the corridor they’d just come from. Pikok moved to a small hole in the wall and busied himself with some wires. Just as the doors closed behind them, a weak light emanated from above, and Pikok let out a soft snigger of triumph and clapped his hands several times.
“Come . . .” He gestured to Rafik. “Sss seeeee.”
The place turned out to be a large underground hall supported by many columns, casting dark shadows everywhere. Pikok ran excitedly forward. Rafik tried to keep up, but the man seemed to forget his limp as he darted into the shadows and disappeared behind the columns. Rafik found himself suddenly alone. Fighting panic, he slowed—which was lucky, because he almost walked into a wall. Rafik’s hand touched the wall, which felt cracked and uneven under his fingertips.
“Hello?” he said, “Pikok?”
When there was no answer Rafik began moving along the wall, but he stopped abruptly as he realised that his fingers were not touching natural cracks in the wall. He leaned closer, squinted, and when his eyes adjusted to the gloom his jaw dropped in surprise.
The entire wall, all the way up to the ceiling, was covered in symbols. It was a puzzle, hundreds of lines long and wide. There were even a second and third layer carved in. Rafik took a step back and saw there were carvings all over the floor as well as on the columns.
A soft scratching noise reached his ears from his left and Rafik walked cautiously towards it until he saw a ladder leaning on the wall. Pikok was at the top of the ladder. He was holding a small portable lamp in one hand and carving energetically with the other.
“Pikok.”
The man turned his head, tongue lolling out from his mouth like a dog.
“What is this?” Rafik gestured around him.
A look of genuine puzzlement crossed the man’s face.
“That is pa . . . pa . . . puzzle,” he stuttered, shrugging his shoulders at the obvious.
“No, I mean—” Rafik hesitated “—where have you seen all of these? It looks like the wall of symbols I dream about, but the symbols . . . how do you . . .”
Pikok scratched his head. “I see them. I remember them.”
“What, all of them?”
Pikok nodded. “D . . . don’t y . . . you?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
Rafik shook his head.
Pikok climbed down, “It’s the Gr . . . Gr . . . Great Puzzle, we all s . . . see . . .”
Without waiting for Rafik to reply, Pikok grabbed Rafik’s arm, pulling the boy after him. They half-ran away from the columns until they reached another wall, which was filled with the tiniest of carvings. Rafik tried but failed to spot the borders of this giant puzzle. In fact, it did not seem like a puzzle at all; its columns were not straight, and the symbols did not make sense to Rafik.
“I don’t understand this.”
Pikok pointed at a symbol. “This,” he spat, and pointed at another. “And . . . th . . . this, to . . . together, and this an an . . . and this.” He pointed at another pair and continued showing Rafik something the boy understood only from instinct, not logic.
“Wait, but what is it?” he said loudly enough to echo.
Pikok stopped pointing and turned around.
“Is it a puzzle?” Rafik asked. “Because I can’t see it, I can’t see it at all.”
Pikok waved his tattooed fingers. “It is us,” he mumbled, this time without a stutter.
Rafik looked at the wall again. “I still don’t understand. You mean it is what we are meant to do?”
“No, it is who we are,” said the man impatiently, as if explaining the obvious. “It is P . . . Puzzler. It is Pikok. It is Raf—”
There was a crunching sound from the darkness, and a small stone landed at their feet. Pikok moved instantaneously. He grabbed the boy and they dashed into the darkness, crouching behind one of the columns.
A taunting male voice echoed across the hall.
“Pi-pi-pi-peeee-kok.”
Pikok now covered his head with his arms and whimpered.
“You know you can’t hide from me. I always find you.”
Pikok shook his head violently, as if strongly disagreeing with something, and then they were on their feet again, running.
They didn’t make it far. As if from thin air, a slender man appeared and grabbed Pikok by the collar, almost lifting him off the ground. The man was dressed in black, or so Rafik initially thought, but on closer examination the man proved to be almost naked. As Rafik watched, the man’s body changed colour. He held the struggling Pikok with ease.
“Now, now, Pikok,” he intoned mockingly, “again you force me to find you down here, you know how I hate running after you like that.”
Pikok stopped struggling. “Hello, Ca Ca . . . Chameleon.” He smiled nervously.
“That’s better, Pikok, and who is your friend?” The man released him. “Oh, look who we have here—it’s the Keenans’ new key, the young Puzzler.”
Chameleon’s eyes fixed upon Rafik with a stare that made the boy uncomfortable. “I think you are not supposed to run around all by yourself. I bet your new crew commander would be angry if he knew you were running around in the dark corners of the Hive.” Chameleon pointed at himself. “Me? I’m from the Loot Worshippers crew, and have nothing against the Keenans, Doro was a decent Troll, but a Sabarra would have thrown you over the Hive’s wal
l in a heartbeat, just for the fun of it.”
Rafik didn’t know what to say, but the strange man was right. He suddenly realised he could be in serious trouble.
“Well, boy, what is your name?”
“Rafik.”
“Right, Rafik. I hope you’re saner than this rusting key.” He pointed at Pikok. “Too bad the Keenans bought you; we could have used another one with the amount of runs we’re doing now. My friends call me Cham, by the way.” He extended his hand and Rafik shook it gingerly, watching the man’s arm change colour as they touched.
“It was you who passed by me at the door.”
Chameleon smiled briefly, then remembered what he came for and turned to Pikok. “Come on, it’s almost time. I knew you’d forget about our scheduled deep run.”
Upon hearing this, Pikok began to shake and a long wail escaped his lips.
“Shut up,” Chameleon ordered briskly, his demeanour changing as fast as his skin colour. “Shut up or I’ll tie you up like last time.”
The threat seemed to work and Pikok quieted down, although he was still shaking when Chameleon led them to the door.
“Why is he so afraid?” Rafik asked.
Chameleon let out a short laugh. “He’s just crazy, is all, and we ain’t taking this rust fuck for a deep run. I was just messing with his wires. My commander wants to see him.” He pointed at the older Puzzler. “This guy loves the Lizards too much.” He turned to the Puzzler and mocked him. “Don’t you, Piiikok, gets up-up-upset when we shoo-shoo-shoot them.”
“They are not Ll Li . . . Lizards,” despite his fear, a flash of anger crossed Pikok’s face.
“Of course they’re Lizards—and that’s why we shoot them.” Chameleon answered slowly and softly, as if speaking to a child. “And they’ll chew your rusting, ugly face off.”
“You should not sh sh . . . shoot them. Lizards da da don’t hu hurt Pa Puzzlers.”
The three reached the locked doors, and Chameleon turned impatiently to Pikok. “I tell you what, Pikok, the next time I see a Lizard charging you, I won’t shoot, and you can take your time talking to them, how about that, eh? Now open the door.”