On the ground floor, where rusted beams creaked under the weight of millions of tons of concrete, the Alley Master waited. He sat cross-legged in a shadowed corner of the dim chamber, beyond the reach of the red, flickering torchlight. His patience was nearing its limit when he spotted the first member of his team descending.
—You're a giant… —murmured the boy, his red curls plastered to his sweaty face as he struggled under the weight of the large copper tank strapped to his back. He took careful steps across the creaky wooden stairs, wrinkling his nose at an unfamiliar scent—something he guessed was what they called "earth."
—You sound disappointed! —roared the giant, adjusting wire-rimmed glasses that looked comically small on his bulbous, vein-crossed nose. His clean-shaven face flushed crimson like embers—. Yes, I'm a giant, purebred. And you're the "squire" the Bull sent me? One day I'll climb up and have a talk with him in his own lenguage! —He shook a clenched fist, knuckles white. After stifling a snort, he jabbed a finger at the boy—. By the wrath of the God in the Box… You're just a kid!
—No, no —the boy replied, offended. He dropped the tank into the mud and spat—. Well… yeah, I'm a kid. But watch this.
He wiped sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his red shirt, took a deep breath, and gripped a crank protruding from the tank. With visible effort, he began turning it.
The giant raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
—I can compress air into this tank in very, very little time.
—Alright, alright —said the giant—. And how does that help me?
—This… this is the reservoir of a astamvento! —the boy announced, unraveling tar-coated elastic tubes from the tank—. What world do you live in? I invented it! —He pulled out a slender, finger-thin steel tube, extending it to arm's length—. And this is the astamvento! —Suddenly aware he was talking too much for a child, he lowered his voice—. My master designed it. As you see, it's just a tube.
The boy fell silent, eyes downcast, waiting for the giant's verdict. After all, he would decide whether the boy earned the privilege of being his squire. This was his only chance to win forgiveness from the Bull and the nation—forgiveness for his invention.
—A rifle… —the giant muttered—. The Knot of Nations bans using fire to kill. Does the Bull know we're carrying… that? —he said with disgust—. Does he?
The boy scratched his cheek, chuckled, then aimed the windlance upward. He yanked a lever on the tank, and a muffled thud echoed through the tube, followed by a sharp whistle. A cloud of pulverized cement rained from the ceiling, dusting the boy's face white.
—No spark, no fire. Just the astamvento. It obeys the Knot's laws —the boy slung the tube over his shoulder with a mischievous grin—. It's only air, see? The gods see it too. And they smile.
He coughed as the dust settled.
—I see —grunted the giant, crossing his chain-wrapped arms—. Another step toward war. What's your name, little inventor?
—Pem —Pem brushed gray dust from his shirt with three pats—. Just Pem.
—I'm U —U's massive hand tousled Pem's hair further—. Pleased to meet you, Mister Just. Is "Pem" a common name in the Bull's nation?
—Uh… No —the boy replied, confused.
—The one chosen to escort us through the streets is also named Pem —the giant smiled for the first time, Pem noticed.
—Up there… it's not like out here. Thousands upon thousands live in the buildings. We don't all know each other.
—Alright, smartass —said U, scratching his back against the wall absentmindedly—. So you don't know anyone named Pem?
—Th-there's one Pem. Yeah —the boy stammered nervously—. Everyone knows his name.
—Famous up there, is he?
—Sorry, U, I'm just a kid, but I think you want me to talk about that Pem… because he's your escort, and you want my pure opinion before revealing that the infamous Pem will join us outside.
The giant let out a short, genuine laugh.
—You always think this hard, Just?
He then stared at Pem, cold gray eyes locked on him, yellowed teeth bared in a grin.
—But that's impossible —Pem continued—. That Pem would never come here. He doesn't work. Doesn't… want to. He's a patán.
—What's a patán?
—I don't know how it is out there —the boy pointed at the gate marking the unknown—. Or in other nations, other buildings. But in the Bull's nation, we call those who don't work patán. They spend their time… telling us stories. We laugh at their laziness and bad choices.
—Like a jester? —U inquired.
—No… Well —Pem hesitated, torn between sounding stupid or smug—. Jesters make people laugh. I know other nations have them, and it's an art. Patáns don't pretend. But… yeah, that's close enough.
—Well, little sage, lucky for us—we don't want a jester guarding our backs out there with a sword made of tied balloons. Right?
—That Pem's worse. He's a duelist.
The giant waited silently, forcing Pem to keep talking.
—Duelists… In the Bull's nation, they're patáns who can't take mockery and… duel anyone who insults their status —Pem noticed disgust on U's bald, massive face—. I know, I know… Horrible! Letting two men hurt each other like animals. But it's an old law. A right law. And… it's not to the death. Just "first blood," they call it.
—Is this Pem as skilled a duelist as you are a chatterbox?
—Few in Carpentry's buildings don't bear a scar they shamefully blame on an "accident" with an axe or saw. And they all curse his name —Pem stared at his feet—. That's why I hate sharing it.
—Pem… what was the rest? —U pressed.
—Pem… —the boy began, then froze, face pale, as something, maybe an insect, bit his neck.
—Pem Onehit! —the boy shrieked, leaping forward and whirling around.
A young man with delicate features stood before him. A droplet of blood hung from the tip of his razor-sharp, blunt-edged rapier. His large, expressionless black eyes fixed on the boy who shared his name.
—Pem Onehit… that's what they call me —he drawled, mimicking—to the boy's ears—the accent of Carpentry's lower floors—. And you'd be dead if that nickname offended me.
Pem, the boy, collapsed to the floor, legs trembling. "Why do I always put my foot in my mouth like this?" he thought. "Just shut up," his master always said.
—Now your name is Just —Pem Onehit declared, his tone as stern as an attic guildmaster's. He sheathed his weapon, barely glancing at the boy again—even when giving orders—. A pleasure to meet the famed wandering giant —he added, turning to U. With slender fingers peeking from his black cloak, he fastened a button on his red national shirt. "He acts ashamed of the color," thought Just, disgusted—. But I'll be painfully honest, gentle U. I don't want to be here.
—And yet… —U replied, theatrically weary.
—We'll go —Pem Ungolpe said, staring at U as if daring him to take offense—. We'll go out there to die.
—Then let's go! —the giant bellowed, clapping his hands and rising with bone-cracking creaks. His neck twisted, head tilted, back hunched against the ceiling. He stepped forward, tearing chains from the wall.
—Not so fast! —snapped Pem Onehit—. What's the rush? I bring news from above. And when delivering ill tidings to a giant, I prefer him seated.
U paused, glaring at the youth.
—We must wait for last-minute companions —Pem Ungolpe continued—. The Knot has decreed a delegation from the Heron will join us.
—WHAT IN THE…? —U roared—. The
enemy is coming with us?!
—Those prisses haven't wronged me… yet —Pem Ungolpe crossed his arms beneath his cloak—. But they've a right to know as much as we do… while we're part of the Knot.
—How long will they take? —U asked, suddenly calm as he sat—nearly crushing Nothing More—. I've fasted two days to fit through the exit gate! I'll shit on that chicken god's eggs!
—We'll sleep —Pem declared, with foreman-like authority, Nothing More thought—. Tomorrow, the Heron's priests will bring offerings: half a ton of the Pig Nation's finest meats and a quarter-ton of bread and pastries from the Fox. Happy?
The giant exhaled, extinguishing every torch. Just tumbled to the floor.
—Goodnight, Team 1.2 —U said, seconds before snoring like a demon in labor.
—They'll also bring a barrel of oil —Nothing More heard Pem Ungolpe add in the dark—. To grease your giant ass through the gate and out of this shithole.
—Uh… G'night —Nothing More stammered.
No one replied. The boy didn't sleep. He knew he had to light the fuse of war to save his master's life. Would U and Pem Ungolpe agree to be accomplices in a fatal destiny? Tomorrow would tell. But that night, insomnia kept him company. And it would stay with him until his final breath.