You were sitting in a chair next to Cadichon, rubbing bloodroots and enjoying the company of the kitten purring on your lap. It's been a long day of uninterrupted work. By this time, it was about five o'clock in the afternoon and all the runners and visitors were drunk in the bars of the city. You cursed for a long time when you saw that you had no time left to buy your desired gramophone, although you doubted they were selling that kind of device in that city.
The next stage would start in about two days. You thought that wasn't long enough for Gyro's horse to recover. But you soon remembered that he mentioned something called zombie horse, to which paid no attention, while he insisted that you sew Valkyrie's wound with a dusty, dirty string that he kept. You were too distracted to question him then, but now that you had calmed down, you were sure it would help the animal recover faster.
Diego left before you could ask about what happened at the finish line. You still couldn't believe that Dio, a renowned jockey, would hurt a horse.
The day darkened with the imminence of a cold night, but the ring on your finger still shone in the dim light. Gold and silver. Full of engravings. You stretched your back and let out a long yawn. When you looked up, were amazed by a familiar figure.
He was a tall, young man, but mature, lean, and a pleasant exotic-looking. Hair and eyes pink, which you've never seen in your entire life. That race was being a series of new and impressive experiences – and beautiful, too.
But there was something about this man, Hot Pants, that wasn't right; a sense of something mysterious about his lips, something fierce and melancholy in his relaxed eyes. Something you didn't know how to discern, but you felt.
''Did I come too late? Have you closed your store?'' The man asked, at a comfortable distance from you. Although it seemed simple, he had been the first person to stay within the confines of your personal space. Diego and Gyro had an annoying habit of approaching you like they wanted to smell you.
You hate customers during your rest, but any money going into your pockets was welcome at that moment.
''Oh, it's okay, I haven't closed yet.'' Said, greeting him in a gesture and walking to your wagon as he accompanied you. ''You came at a good time. It's much better when there's only one customer. How can I help you? Herbs? Supplies? Esoteric services?''
''Esoteric services?''
''Exactly. Palmistry, clairvoyance, predictions... Something that interests you?''
You walked gracefully to the inside of your wagon. Some sandalwood candles illuminated the place. Hot Pants seemed slightly interested, but you feared it wasn't in a good way. You spent a few hours of your day organizing your workplace, leaving your ossuary to the public. As it seemed, there was everything. Small skulls of bats, from Argentina; rats and vipers of Nicaragua; transparent bones, dusty, with small teeth, nails of carnivorous ferocity. Cows and horses, vélasquez and galiceno. There were also skulls of monkeys, resistant in their tiny curves as those of the huge Cuban horses.
They exercised a certain attraction, so immovable and so beautiful as if the contours of the bones still retain the ghost of the flesh and what once sustained them. Hot Pants stretched his arm and touched one of the skulls, strangely inert.
''A cougar?'' He asked, in a low voice. A big skull, this one, with curved teeth to lacerate meat.
''Yep.'' You answered, looking at him with inviolable admiration.
''Where did you get all these bones?''
''They are of all the places I've been. This cougar is called sussuarana, it's from Paraguay.''
''Interesting... So you mean you collect bones and corpses?''
It took you a few seconds to respond, bewildered by the tone of voice That Hot Pants had asked. It was clear, of course, that you had a habit of storing animal bones, but how necessary was it to say 'corpses'? Maybe all that bullshit about the holy corpse is driving you crazy and making you relate anything to it, but it wasn't possible to hide your widened eyes anymore.
''Well... yes. I wouldn't say collect, but I find it interesting to keep them here with me, they're kind of company while I work.'' Said, slightly embarrassed. ''Besides, they're like an audience.''
''Audience?''
''Exactly.''
You took one of the skulls Hot Pants was looking at. This wasn't a white soft and opaque like the other skulls. It was stained and streaked with brown, exhibiting a light reflection of every polishing. Opening the jaw of the wild predator, you took a little paper from inside. Although Hot Pants kept his fists clenched, it was still possible to see that he held a small piece of paper that you cleverly managed to pick up without him noting and depositing inside the skull. You held the paper in front of him in a way that could read the contents.
''Watercress, chamomile, insect repellent, grease, Greek hay... You've come to the right place.''
Putting the paper on the counter, you looked at him. The man was clearly surprised. Your face opened with a satisfied smile. Hot Pants' face had a gloomy but relaxed expression.
''Impressive.'' He said, adamant. You were a little disappointed in his reaction, but you knew you took him by surprise, so you were satisfied.
''That's just a little trick I do to entertain my customers. Well, I'm not going to stall you anymore. How can I help?''
''I need to buy everything on this list. How much will it cost?''
''It's quite a thing... But I think I have everything here. They're for medicinal use, right? Some plants on this list can be toxic when ingested.''
''Yes, medicinal purposes.''
Without waiting for an answer, he watched you work. Time and time again you'd look at him, trying to figure out what was wrong with that man. He seemed to be a true gentleman, and his presence was less uncomfortable than any other runner you had met. You felt lost between the drawers and shelves, then straightened up and smoothed your crumpled clothes.
''You're Hot Pants, right?'' You asked while picking up the Greek hay. ''I heard you won the third stage, congratulations.''
He didn't answer, but he nodded his head in a polite gesture.
''You passed through the clearing, away from the lake, right? I've been there too.''
''Were you there?'' He raised one of his eyebrows, impassive, but slightly interested.
''Yes.''
''Are you in the race?''
''No, no.'' You said, making a quiet giggle. ''I'm just a hawker, but I'm following the race. I help some travelers there, selling some things here... but I'm too slow to compete with runners like you.''
He gave what appeared to be the beginning of a smile, with half-closed lips. You provided a small linen bag, where you put all the jars of herbs inside. The presence of Hot Pants was pleasant, although it brought a serious and almost military air. Unlike most runners, he looked very well-presentable. Not a remnant of an unshaven beard, perfectly arched eyebrows, and clean clothes. In addition, he had a very specific smell, very far from the common male body odor.
"You're not so slow." He said. ''After all, if you saw me in the clearing, it means that you also got the first place.''
You laughed, feeling a gentle flush on your cheeks that you didn't mind hiding. Missing one or two items from the list, you went to check out the paper to make sure what to pick up. Matches and tamani grass. A short sigh of surprise escaped from your mouth.
''Capim tamani? You're the first person to ask for it here. Well, I just got the grass dehydrated. But if it's for plasters, I recommend taking fern.''
''It's not for me.'' He made a gesture with his head, looking over his shoulders. You saw the graceful figure of a horse behind him. ''Fern is toxic to horses, I'll still want the tamani grass.''
In addition to appearing to be a well-born young man, Hot Pants has a strange knowledge of herbs. You couldn't say if things were different in that country, but where you come from, herbalism is the exclusive practice for older women. You were used to getting dirty looks for being a healer so young and without a husband, but you thought that was the most unusual thing you could see in that country - except, of course, all the absurdities you witnessed with Gyro and Johnny.
But a man like him with that knowledge about herbs? Tamani grass was a much more common plant in South America, and you were sure that if there was this plant here, they wouldn't call it 'tamani'. How did he know that kind of herb?
You questioned only in your mind, delivering the products to him and being properly paid. Whoever he is, Hot Pants got your attention.