The Lonely Man’s Company
The rover’s engine died with a croak two days into the journey. Tye ransacked every compartment before leaving it by the roadside hidden under a coat of leaves and twigs. He continued down the dirt track on foot with his mind razor-sharp, his teeth clenched, and his backpack full to the brim with resources.
- Five bags of uncut Imbian lotus powder
- One machete
- Half a debiv of salted uguae beef
- Three thermoses filled with water
- One thermos filled with a vile home-brewed spirit
- Two hundred thirty-six toreks
- One clay oil lamp shaped like a fish
- One badge of an officer of the Ailila Watch
He barely slept. He had gone on many a binger with Aishi, but that was before prison. This one had been a season in the making, a season full of dreaming about the first high after the escape, keeping him sane during the half-day mining shifts of the WMC prison complex at Bitaab.
The drugs lived up to every expectation. Mul’s powder was of the purest variety, better than any Tye had ever had. No wonder kids overdose on this. It kicked in at full force and stayed there, lasting a frag, a hundred, entire days as long as he kept up his intake. He made sure to measure his doses well, and made good progress. The sun settled to his right and rose to his left. He was going south. The Foen couldn’t be far off.
The road ended five and a half days in at a village without a name. Tye tried to ask about the best way on from there, but the faces looking back at him told him to make a swift exit. Their trust was evenly distributed among each other; there was none left for outsiders. There also was no Watch. These folks make their own justice. And so he scrammed, with a smile and a glance over his shoulder as he entered the brush.
The vegetation slowed him down, the snakes and cats and boars attacked him, but his senses were keen, impossible to fool. He sped up trees and down slopes to escape them, and once even swung across a precipice on a vine. The jungle couldn’t touch him unless he willed it so.
His sights shifted to the things far ahead of him, knowing with absolute certainty that he would return to Jaemeni, his home. The concrete towers. Vohl Church. The singing kywees. The tenfold fountains. Once there, there were changes to be made, things to be done, all of whom he collected and made part of his enhanced, foolproof plan.
- Escape Ailila [X]
- Make it through the jungle
- Find the Foen
- Bathe
- Find girl(s)
- Acquire money
- Dress high and mighty (feathers, fancy shoes, egg-hat)
- Buy fake identity (Biko Beanybago?)
- Buy ticket to Jaemeni
- Ride south on ship
- Detox
- Get off outside Jaemeni to evade Watch controls
- Sneak into the city by canal
- Find Aishi
- Get money and contacts to find shelter
- Go by moms’ place, give money
- Lay low and wait until declared dead (grow beard, learn economics)
- Start business with Aishi
- Sign contracts and leases in his name
- Offer services (finding, procuring, selling, communications)
- Make small fortune
- Invest fortune in bringing backwoods powder into the city (Mul still alive? Find out)
- Cultivate network of street-level sellers to do the daily
- Pay out Aishi (buy Daily Telegraph, sign over to him)
- Make large fortune
- Buy two mansions (one for moms, one for you)
- Kill the judge and frame chief Kanma
- Retire
The voices started speaking nine days in. He had heard about them from experienced powderers, but was shocked when the first words came to his ear, sounding as if the lips forming them were only a hair’s breadth away. They did not tell him to burn things, or kill people, as they did in the stories. No, his voices said many contradicting things. They spoke over one another. They mumbled, or screamed. He felt not compelled by them, but rather annoyed, and was glad when they faded as the day went on.
Then, the deep one started talking. It did not scare him at first. Something about that voice was familiar, a memory of guidance from times when he’d been lost. It spoke to the rhythm of his steps, and resonated in his leg with a soothing bass. It told him of dangers easily overlooked, and spared him the occasional stumble. It asked him to open the clasps on his shoes so they could breathe.
As night came, the voice changed its tune, saying other things. His beef supply had shrunk rapidly, as had the amount of powder. There wasn’t a sign of a village coming anytime soon, and the jungle only got thicker. He had to set his plan aside if he wanted to survive, the voice said. He had to make sacrifices.
Tye tried to ignore it and catch some sleep, but just as his mind drifted off, another voice swelled up. It screamed so loudly his eardrums shook, and the things it screamed frightened him to the bone. He climbed down the tree screaming himself, only to hear a growl in the bushes, and started running for his life.
The voices quieted down as he pushed through the brambles, past the trees small and big and huge, becoming no more than whispers. He sped on ignoring the pain, exhausting himself, robbing himself of the ability to think just so he could find some peace. After who knew how long, he did.
For a blissful breath, the pain and the screaming cut out, and it was only him racing through the jungle. His body was working, but his mind had gone asleep, leaving a running machine void of thought. He closed his eyes.
A noise of doom blared at him, pulled him back into consciousness. He stopped running. The voices returned. The noise blared again, from close, from afar, from everywhere, beating him down like a sobbing child. He lay on the ground holding his ears closed as the noise blared again. The voices rose up into a deafening clamor. He screamed. He opened his eyes. Everything was black.
Tye woke on the morning of the tenth day feeling like another mountain had fallen on top of him. His head was pounding. His feet burned like two suns strapped to his ankles. It hurt to stand. It hurt to sit. It hurt to exist.
But the voices had shushed. In their place was a whisper of a different kind, a back-and-forth of many that were one. Splashing. Billowing. The jungle was filled with the sounds of water. He pushed on until it was all around him, and almost took a step too far when he burst out of the bushes.
Tye fell to his knees and prayed. To the gods, who still had plans for him. To the voices, for driving him on. And to the mighty Mother Foen, whose waters ran deep and wide before him, glistening, carrying kywees and boats and freighters that blared out noises of not doom, but hope.
The town of Bin Bin clung to the north bank of the river like a mushroom to a tree. It smelled of saffron, fish, and tar, and bristled with people running from somewhere to somewhere else. Many were yelling, and more were mumbling curses. Cargo boats droned along on the river. Engines roared in the factories. They were the smells and sounds of commerce. Bin Bin was a trade hub, and it tried hard to appear a proper city.
Compared to Jaemeni, it was a joke, but Tye found that he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind the seventeen by thirteen streets, spanning a cluster of cheap apartment complexes and shops dwarfed by the riverside factories. He didn’t mind the dirty sidewalks. He didn’t even mind the looks coming his way, though they sure were many.
You’re back. He was. An urge came over him more than once to spill his joy in a mighty howl, but he knew better. Different kind of jungle. Your kind. Fuzzy-haired, clothed in rags, and wearing deep lines under his eyes, he already looked like a savage. He shouldn’t act like one on top of it.
The deeper he walked into Bin Bin, the more he felt like an outsider. The town was engaged in a minutely studied dance, one whose rhythm he could neither hear nor feel. Hands and threats pushed him on, and soon, he felt not a stranger, but a pebble being kicked from block to block.
There weren’t many watchmen on the streets, but those that were never took their eyes off him. At least that was what he saw. Tye had done enough powder in his life to know how it made him feel about uniforms. Unfortunately, he had not done enough to eradicate the last bag of powder still in his hind pocket. He returned their stares with a smile, a nod here and there, and took every corner he could.
He only spotted three guards, pale boys fresh from Grale guarding a small ore processing facility, terribly out of place. Their looks he felt the most, so much so it spurred his step. Breathe. He knew where he was going. Each shop, school, workshop, dealership, restaurant brought him closer to the harbor.
For the harbor was where the business happened, and that included one kind above all. The oldest kind. His favorite kind. The business of company.
“You want what for one-twenty?”
Tye was baffled. “Standard rate, ain’t it.”
“I don’t… What do I need the leash for?”
“Seriously? You’ve never heard of the ‘inverse houndsman’? That’s….” He scratched his head. The woman gave him a disgusted look. Unprofessional, that’s what this is. “What about a ‘waterwheel’? I’ll give ya one hundred, plus a bump.”
“I don’t bump,” she said. “Besides, you oughta at least throw in a shower, mister.”
“Why? You smell alright to me.”
He had never before seen a whore roll her eyes at him, but there it was. Tye grew restless. It’s taking too long. Bail.
He’d scouted the place well enough. There was prettier merchandise down the street, but those women were organized. Organized meant upper management, and that usually meant trouble. He’d known enough pimps in Jaemeni to prefer independent contractors. These three were right at the intersection of his likes: approachable, affordable, and without those dead eyes. They even seemed to rent the rundown two-story house they held court in front of.
“What An-Jee’s saying is, you fucking reek,” the other woman said. She had stayed in the doorway’s shadow, but now she took a step toward him. That step meant something. He saw it in An-Jee’s reaction: this one was in charge.
Self-organized, then. “Pardon? I took a bath just earlier.”
“Downriver, huh? Piss off and clean up. And I don’t mean just wash, fix the rest, too. Then, we can talk about prices.”
She did remind him of her male counterparts: no-bullshit types. Aishi would get along splendidly with her. Though gods know he wouldn’t care about her merchandise. “At least a pointer would be nice.”
“ ‘Waterwheel’ costs one-fifty. And if an ‘inverse houndsman’ is what I think it is, she’s gonna charge at least two.” She raised her brows at him. She was pretty, prettier than lean An-Jee even, but in a subdued way. It probably didn’t go well with her job.
“… How much for her?” Tye asked, pointing at the third. She was standing by a window smoking a cigarette. She had a round face, and was a bit older than An-Jee.
“Sisu doesn’t do requests,” the boss said.
“How much for you?”
Her smirk brought out the pretty. “Keep dreaming.”
An-Jee laughed, and Tye saw that there was no point. He gave the boss a nod and went his way. Whores with standards—what a world.
Company Street went for about three blocks away from the river before the merchandise ended and the spirit stores took over. He tried his luck with a few more contractors, but if their eyes didn’t tell him no, their huddling together did. Smaller town meant smaller competition. Still, it irked him. Did they talk among each other? Were there truces in place? Do they unionize out here? His hopes had were just about to run out when he finally found her.
She was had her hair pinned up and was wearing a short sarif, but no make-up apart from a thin black line drawn around her eyes. She didn’t even need that. It wasn’t a look that got high prices on the market, but it sure got him. Like Lyene. She looks just like Lyene. Without a thought, he steered straight toward her.
For a breath, Tye felt deeply ashamed of his state. He then remembered he was on Company Street.
“Hi.”
She didn’t recoil like the others. “Hi.”
She sounds just like Lyene. Tye donned Oiji’s smirk. “Do you know what an ‘inverse houndsman’ is?”
She didn’t say a word in response; instead, the woman who looked and sounded like Lyene reached inside her sarif, untied a belt from around her waist, and smacked it across her palm.
That’s no belt. That’s a leash. “How much?” Tye blurted out.
“Normally, one fifty.” Her eyes held his in a vice. “For you, two twenty.”
“Drop the twenty, add a bump?”
“I’ll drop the twenty if you promise not to speak.”
“Why that?”
She turned and walked slowly along the sidewalk, letting him follow closely. She smells just like Lyene. “Don’t like they way you big city boys sound.”
“How’s that?”
“Like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Starting now, you shut up.”
Tye was happy to oblige. This was what business was supposed to be. Simple. Straightforward. Easy. The apartment complex she led him to was nicer than the shabby house of An-Jee and her boss. He didn’t mind how they had to walk around the side to take the basement entrance. Ground level was quickest to the deal-made-flesh. The houndsman.
She closed the basement door behind them, and closed a latch. The corridor was nicer than expected. There was carpet flooring, and wooden panels on the walls and ceiling, dimly lit. She beckoned him to the door at the other end. He followed.
Halfway across the corridor, he came by another door covered by a rough-cut mirror. It was plastered with stickers, spirit bottle labels, magazine cut-outs, and small hand-written notes. But it wasn’t them that made him stop.
“You don’t have to speak, but you gotta move,” she said. “I don’t have all day.”
But Tye couldn’t look away. Between the scraps of paper and plastic, a face looked back at him, a face he hadn’t expected. It was like his, but… ugly. Caked with dirt. Carved up. Stung. You do look like shit.
“You listening?” she asked, playfully. When he finally looked up, her face was just outside the lamp’s reach. She let the leash snap. “Do I have to drag you in here?”
She sounded just like Lyene. She looked just like Lyene. She smelled just like Lyene.
She was like Lyene.
Lyene, the bitch that broke your heart.
“Sorry, not for me.” Tye moved backward clumsily, and almost stumbled. He held on to the mirror door to catch his fall. “Didn’t mean to waste your time.”
“Something wrong?”
“I…” Tye stopped. There was a note stuck to the ball of his thumb, and on it, a discrepancy. Two handwritings.
“Kuno,” the woman said.
And the door behind her sprung open.
All Tye saw was a dark figure emerging before he darted for the exit. It only opened to a tight gap. The latch. He fumbled it open and jumped out just in time to avoid the figure crashing into the door. A hand grabbed at his shirt, but only tore off a scrap. He shot up the stairs. The top step caught his foot. He fell, but shot back to his feet awithin a breath, and ran down the alley.
When the hand yanked back his collar, Tye watched breathlessly as his feet flew forward. Only the tip of one reached the brightness of the street. It remained there for a moment before the hand started pulling him back into the alley. Tye felt the sudden urge to scream his lungs out for help. He then remembered he was on Company Street.
Fighting back only earned a kick to his liver. He curled up, gasped. The figure was a man, and that man was strong, dragging him by his backpack. The backpack the machete’s in, you idiot.
“Fine, I won’t resist,” Tye croaked. “You can have all my money.”
The man pulled his shoulder onto the stairs. “Good start.”
Tye knew what his motivation was. He had seen it in the mirror himself. The dirty man staring back at him looked like a mark, like a man who truly nobody would miss. Tried to tell ya. His ribs bumped down the stone steps one by one. This was bad, really really really—
“Hands off Venia’s clients, Kuno.”
The voice belonged to a woman. Not Lyene’s. Tye looked up to find a silhouette standing at the top of the stairs.
Kuno stopped pulling him. “You better not be serious.”
“Try me.”
“Venia’s selling you to scum like this now?”
“An-Jee. And no, not without a shower. You gonna shower him?”
“I don’t think he is,” Tye said.
Kuno slapped him across the face. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, it does!” A second slap stung Tye’s cheek. He shut up.
“Stop it,” the woman said. “Let him go, or Venia talks to Bo.”
Kuno stared up at her for a while, slapped Tye once more, and then sighed. He kicked the wall next to the door, busting a hole into the cracked plaster. “Fuck!”
He let go. Tye shot up and out of the staircase shouting back, “Hope you die in a gutter!”
Kuno spat in his direction, but missed. “You’re only a client until your money’s spent.” He walked inside, but not before flicking his index and middle finger up in the air. “See you around.”
With the slam of the door, Tye’s heartbeat plummeted. He started massaging his side, and took a few deep breaths to check if there was serious injury to his ribs. There wasn’t.
It took him a few breaths more to remember he wasn’t alone. The silhouette had turned into a woman he had seen before. She had a plain, round face, and a few too many lines in it. But her eyes were far from dead.
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Martin Surga 