The Lost Puzzler. Eyal Kless
she said. Her cold voice was as sobering as the hot trickle of blood running down my cheek.
“Don’t,” I gasped. “I mean you no harm.”
“No kidding,” she chuckled bitterly. “Now who sent you? Was it that rust bucket Fuazz?”
“No.” Though he had pointed me in the right direction.
“The Grapplers?”
“No, please—”
“Ex-guild?”
“No, it’s not really lik—”
“The Omen Society.”
I paused, surprised despite my state of mind at that moment. “Surely you didn’t manage to get on their bad side as well?” I said, and surprisingly enough it made her laugh, though she didn’t ease the pressure under my eye.
“Look,” I tried again, using what I was hoping was a calm and reasonable voice, “when I said I came with no intention to harm you, I meant it. I’m not carrying any weapons.”
Walking into the Den unarmed and staying alive long enough to boast about it was something even Vincha had to check. She began a thorough search, shifting positions expertly, changing her blade-holding hand several times without easing the pressure, leaving me vulnerable and exposed throughout the entire procedure. Under different circumstances it would have been almost enjoyable.
Finally she said, “Your eyes.”
“What of it?” I kept my voice as light as possible. “I can see in the dark, cheat at cards, sometimes see through people or even thin walls, but what’s the worst I could do, squint at you to death?”
She nodded more to herself than for my benefit and the blade eased up a bit.
“Talk,” she commanded.
“I work for a small society of men and women,” I blurted quickly. “We are the Guild of Historians. We explore our past in order to know the present and prepare for the future.” It came out like the superficial mantra it was. The Guild of Historians was as much about selling artifacts for hard coin as it was about helping humanity or finding out about the Catastrophe, but I didn’t care—at least I was talking and Vincha was listening and no part of me was being prodded or cut. “I want to interview you, about what happened when you went into the ruins, with the boy …”
She looked down at me in disbelief. “You tracked me down to the Den for this?”
“Yes.”
“Go rust in a corner.”
“It’s important to us. We need to know what happened.”
“I don’t remember. It’s been a long time,” she said, still hovering above me.
“We have ways to make you remember,” I said, and added hurriedly when I saw her expression harden, “Just mind techniques, nothing intrusive.”
She shook her head. “What’s past is past.” She got up, still holding her blade at the ready. “Don’t make any sudden moves,” she warned. “Now tell me how you know my real name and how you found me.”
“I’ve been trying to track you down for almost two years now,” I said, rubbing my dead arm back to life.
“I’m surprised you found me.”
“There are some things I’m better at than cards,” I said, managing a lighter tone of voice, and sat up as an involuntary groan escaped my lips. “You never stay more than a month in one place, you never go back to the same workplace when you come back to the same town, you never work the same line on a map for more than three spots, and you prefer to work and stay in older establishments, especially ex-Salvationist businesses. You’re good, but there’s a pattern to your movements. Once I figured it out, it was only a matter of trying the odds.”
“And all this for a rusting interview?” she said, perching herself carefully on the side of the playing table, out of arm’s reach but close enough for a kick or a stab.
“Yes. We just want to hear your version of what happened.”
“Well tough luck, Twinkle Eyes. I ain’t talking to you or to your weird rusting guild.”
I got up on my feet, nice and slow, and picked up the overturned chair. “We’re willing to pay,” I said, then added when I saw her expression, “and pay well.”
“I earn nicely, thank you. Now get out.”
This was the moment. There wouldn’t be another one. After tonight she would disappear, because if I could find her, so could others, and there were plenty of nasty individuals who were looking for her. I had to make her talk, I simply had to, so I said the next sentence despite knowing it would probably get me killed.
“I know why you travel in such a pattern.”
I saw her freeze.
“I know why you travel the way you do. I know why you’re still in debt and where the coin you earn goes. I know about your daughter.”
Her expression went blank, which meant she was about to kill me.
“This is not a shakedown,” I said hastily, throwing my hands in the air. “I don’t care about your business, but I’m ready to make life easier for you and for your family. I will pay a lot for your story.”
She paused, the blade dancing in her hand. I held my breath, thinking I might as well hold on to it as long as I still had a choice. I tried to avert my eyes from the dancing blade.
“How much?” she asked
“Enough to clear your debt and make your family easier to conceal.”
“I paid my debts,” she said. “It took me a long time but I paid them.”
That was surprising, and probably untrue. “That’s not what I heard,” I said in a neutral tone, not sure if this turning point in the conversation could be used to my advantage.
“I paid my debt to the last metal coin,” she insisted, as if she thought I cared, “but the bloodsuckers piled up the interest, you can never get away from them, and they just wanted more, kept coming for it, so I stopped paying.”
I nodded. “Still, coin is coin. I’m offering you hard metal for no risk and no sex. How you use it is your business.”
“How much?” she asked again.
I thought of a sum, divided it in my mind, divided it again, and then said it.
“You’re kidding, right? For that sum I wouldn’t even show you my birthmark.”
I smiled. We were negotiating, and that was something I was very good at. I opened my mouth for a clever response, but there was a sudden commotion behind the door. Without realising how it was done, I was on my feet, facing the door, with Vincha’s blade once again pressing against my throat.
There was a loud bang and then the door burst open. The guard who moved the tapestry came sailing through the air and now lay sprawled at our feet. He did not get up. Galinak, covered in perspiration and stained with blood, walked slowly but purposely through the open door. He was smiling peacefully, as if he’d just gone on a leisurely stroll.
He stopped when he saw me. “Well,” he said, “what have we got here?”
“Galinak, you piece of rusting metal,” said Vincha calmly, her face close to my neck. “I thought you’d been banned from here.”
“It’s nice to see you too, Vincha.” Galinak tilted his head. “May I say that you sound better than when you were on Skint, but what the hell happened to your wirings?”
“Been clean and vegan for more than three years now,” said Vincha, “but my reflexes are still good, better than those cat innards you have for wirings.”
“You