A Scoundrel's Song

3

"It still feels wrong." Akafa returned to lightly hammering the tacks into the frame. He was far too naive for his own good. "I could perform odd jobs for people. An honest day's work for an honest day's pay. This is the way of good people."

"People are awful wherever you go, my excruciatingly beautiful friend. People ruin everything. You'll see." It seemed obvious Akafa had not spent much time around people. Niico returned the grass stalk to his lips and then removed it again. "Like I was saying, towns and cities are wonderful places, ruined by people and, you know what I hate the most about them? How they walk."

The hammering continued. The clink and chink of Pel washing bristles upon her brushes, tapping the sides of the jars as she spun the colour and the paint from them. No-one appeared to wish to hear his thoughts, though they were very deep and factual thoughts that should, really, be laid down on paper for the benefit of the many people that didn't know just how annoying they really were.

"What's wrong with the way people walk?" The young lad, returned from his hunt for useful flora. As Niico glanced his way, the boy looked at his feet as he made several steps. "How can the way someone walks make you dislike them?"

"Hate, my boy. Dislike is such a weak word. I hate the way people walk." Niico turned on to his side, supporting himself on his elbow. "For example. Weavers. Not people who work with cloth and things, though don't get me started on them, but those people who can't walk in a straight line if their lives depended on it. Weaving from one side of the street to the other. Hate them."

The boy thought about that, his entire face screwed up as he considered Niico's wise words. In this light, Niico could see the boy's delicate features, long eyelashes and prominent cheekbones that even the usual childhood plumpness couldn't hide. One day that boy was going to break hearts. A lot of them. In fact, with looks like that, he may even break more hearts than Niico himself. Probably not. Niico had been, and continued to be, quite prodigious.

Still lost in thought, the boy, arms hugging the basket filled with potion supplies to his chest, walked across to where Pel continued to paint. All the way, he watched his feet, taking care with each step. Once he reached Pel, he waited while the woman ran her hands through the basket, checking the contents before smiling at Herit and ruffling his short hair. Pel liked the boy, which would make it harder, later, when they had to score as much money as possible from him, Akafa and the boy's father. Dumping the contents of the basket on a nearby rock, Pel sent Herit back out for more.

"The boy's got a good eye." She watched Herit skip away, no longer watching his feet as he raced back into the groves that surrounded the little, abandoned farmhouse of Pel's former lover. "You could sort through these for me."

"I could. This song, though. I almost have it. As soon as I've worked through it, written it down, put music to the lyrics and practiced it until it comes as natural as breathing, I'll help you with the less important things. I promise. Veerers." He used the grass stalk to make his point with that one, his forehead furrowing as he scowled. "Those people who just veer in your way in an instant. Patrons' blood, I hate them. One minute, you're walking, the next, someone just turns, for no reason, without looking, not a care in the world, right into your path! And then ... and then! They look at you, as if you're the one in the wrong! Hate them."

Niico wasn't lying. Well, lying was probably a little extreme to describe his actions. He was certainly thinking about the song, a little. The title, for instance. He had considered a few of those and now fixated upon something to do with how awful people were at walking. The actual words of the song, the tune, what it was going to be about were all in a state of almost ready to think about. Titles, after all, were vital and important in all the famous songs.