Heart's tale

Chapter 1 part 1

Feeling nauseous, he squeezed his eyes shut, made an effort, and forced himself to swallow the porridge. Taking the spoon out of his mouth, he grimaced, placed it on the edge of the plate, and continued the arguing.

"Yes, I'm fine as I am. Innate ability, good position, respect, honor." "Like Alfie." "Alfie would never have let himself rot in that hole." "Well, Alfie's the one who's unlucky, but you're lucky." "He's alive and you're not." "No, you're alive and he ain't." "And that's life?" "What do you think life is, then?"

"How about you all shut up!" the Magister tapped his spoon angrily and lowered his eyes to the cracked plate.

The morning light, rare in these places, was now irretrievably gone, and dusk was once again gathering on the small canal embankments; only somewhere above on the upper tiers was the distant glow of the blazing sun, drying with the laundry on cobwebbed ropes and electric wires. Drawn by the impunity of the half-darkness, two of the city's guards emerged from the narrow Alley of the Blind and dragged the lifeless body past the doors that competed in invisibility. They paused beside a pile of garbage, took a breath, and clumsily pushed their burden into the water, shoving it over the small step that separated the stone sidewalk from the running stream.

The taller one squatted down, leaned on his gun, swore, and said to the dark water:

"Heavy bastard."

"Sometimes I think we're bugs, you know, the ones that... collect shit," the fatter one replied, looking up at the upper floors, exposing their sewer pipes, which, overhanging and puffing with valves, threatened to crush the embankment. The tall one spat into the dark water.

"They build houses out of it, you fool, and our business is to get rid of it."

"The moons alone know how this runoff ends, so we may well reinforce the foundations of the market with our actions," retorted the fat man, pleased with himself.

"You're an idiot, Blop."

"No, my dear Ruchi, I'm a romantic," he looked at his helmet on his hand and, pouting his full lips, he continued with inspiration, "I want to turn all of our... everyday life... into a celebration, at least a little bit. Which I do as far as I can."

On the opposite side of the garbage pile, in the sawdust near the carver's house, there was a gurgling sound and the clatter of receding wooden shoes. The tall guard, obeying instinct, stood up abruptly and looked closely. The fat man looked out from behind him:

"Alive?"

"Of course, not," the tall one jerked his shoulder irritably, "It's a fisherman. Took off like greased lightning. I know his wife; she sells all sorts of stuff from the upper tiers here at the market."

"'The catch from the higher-ups'... Now I see where she gets it from," he walked over to an old canvas bag on the other side of the pile and lifted it up."Look."

Underneath it was a crumpled silver ewer.

"Quite old," the eyes of the fat man who immediately appeared next to him glittered.

"Yes, but if we don't take it to the blacksmith, they'll only give it to us by weight," the tall man answered absently, still staring into the alley where the fisherman's shadow had disappeared, and after a pause, he summed it up: "We should definitely have a word with this fellow."

"What for?" Blop wondered.

Ruchi scornfully and pityingly looked at the fat man.

"What did you call yourself again? Romantic? No, Blop, you're just a fool."

And with these words, the tall one hooked the thin handle of the ewer on the barrel of the gun and moved into the alley.

"Why the fool? Ruch, I don't understand you. Wait!"