Chapter 41: 50. Sixty Stars

Rorri

 

The bell above the door chimed its cold, tinny greeting, turning a dozen human eyes to Rorri’s scraggly silhouette. The chatter dampened to a low hum. He didn’t understand the sparse murmurings about the Woodie in the room, but the humans’ words still left an oily residue in his ears. Rorri clenched his fists inside his pockets and searched for his friends in the low light, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“Oi!”

The tall, stern-faced barkeep crowed that odd Human sound, motioning for Rorri to approach. The strangers’ eyes slowly unstuck from his form as he shuffled to the bar, his own eyes heavy, glued to the floor.

“Stairs. Balifra waiting,” the barkeep said in taut, broken Elvish, gesturing towards the partition that separated the taproom from the back. Rorri gave an appreciative nod, slipped around the partition, and descended a tiny, creaky staircase that led to an unmarked door.

A strong odor wafted out from inside the room, carried by tendrils of smoke – tobacco, and some other herb he didn’t recognize. Bilge’s voice punched against the door, drowning out the tavern’s ambiance. Though Rorri’s high had evened out, and his paranoia had mostly abated, his heart still fluttered, his stomach still hissed, and he still did not want to face his friends. But he told Adar he would be there. And, he really wanted a cigarette.

He turned the knob and gently pushed on the door, hoping to sneak in without too much fuss. As soon as it cracked open, the voices ceased, and the sudden tension shocked his chest, as if he’d just set off a siren. He hesitated.

“It’s just me!”

Rorri nudged the door open the rest of the way, revealing a small, hazy, windowless room, lit by a single hanging lantern. Bilge sat in a wicker chair nearest to the door, with two other humans at the table: the tall, imposing red-headed figure Rorri already knew as Balifra, and a pale, petite, dark-haired woman he did not recognize. Adar stood by a shabby cellaret, leaning stiffly against the bare, yellowing wall.

“Oi!”

Bilge launched from his seat and staggered to Rorri, greeting him with a forceful clap on the back and a slush of Human words. The other two bantered as if the forest elf wasn’t there. Rorri flinched away from his housemate with a tense smile, waiting for someone to say something he could understand.

“Why d’ya look like ya jus’ crawled out the Queen’s arsehole, ay?” Bilge mumbled, leaning in close enough to fill Rorri’s nose with alcohol and smoke.

“What – Oh, right,” Rorri said, remembering his fancy clothes. “I’ll t-tell you about it later.”

“Ay, well, Adar’ll catch y’up on… the job,” Bilge belched as he stumbled back to his chair. “Still workin’ out the d’tails…”

Rorri sidled past the table, greeting the two women with a halfhearted wave. The dark-haired one tapped his arm.

“Smoking?” she said in Elvish, procuring a cigarette from a plain square tin. Rorri perked up. The other two humans laughed and jeered, apparently mocking her weak attempt at speaking his language, but she just smiled, eyes softly resting on his freckled, ashen-brown face.

“Yes, thank you,” Rorri said, bowing to pluck up the cigarette.

As she reached for the matchbox, he snapped his fingers, springing a flame from his thumb. The woman jumped and uttered some quick-spoken Human phrase, provoking a roar of laughter. Rorri looked to Bilge for an explanation, but he ignored him, and the foreign ribbing persisted. He lit his cigarette, dispelled the flame, and crept to Adar like a child seeking comfort behind his mother’s legs.

“Welcome to the party,” Adar said joylessly. “Drinks are on Balifra tonight, if you want anything.”

“I’m alright,” Rorri mumbled through a smoky exhale, side-eyeing the group. “What were they saying a s-second ago?”

Adar blew a loose sigh and shut his eyes. “Well, after you startled the tiny woman, she said, ‘So you really did find us a wizard, one with a nice arse, at that.’”

Rorri choked on his inhale and doubled over coughing. Adar watched him, amused.

“I can tell her you’re taken, if you’d like—”

“No – just – ugh,” Rorri sputtered, struggling to regain composure.

“I think they’re a bit drunk,” Adar added. “I mean, they’ve definitely been drinking.”

“It’s fine,” Rorri grunted, burying the rest of his coughs into his sleeve.

“If it makes you feel better—”

“I’m fine,” Rorri hissed. “Just tell me about the f-fucking job so we can get out of this shithole.”

“Dear god, what’s twisted your nipples today?” Adar said. Rorri rolled his eyes, but the weight in his lids pulled them back to the sticky, ash-covered floor.

“I’m just tired,” he mumbled.

“You always are,” Adar countered.

The table erupted with laughter. Rorri bristled, his resentment barely contained. He took a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke seep into his lungs and impart its warm tingle to his chest – a temporary respite, but it kept him from boiling over.

“Anyway,” Adar continued, “if you’re in a shit mood now, I’m pretty sure it’s about to get shittier.”

“Fantastic. Why?”

“Well… The job is… different… from the jobs we’re used to.”

“Meaning?”

“So…” Adar scratched his head. “It’s at the Nellywing Opera House, and… well, we won’t be stealing anything…”

“Then w-what are we doing?”

“Our… employer,” Adar said, nodding subtly towards the dark-haired woman. “She’s in need of, uh… entertainment.”

The table howled once again. Rorri jumped and whipped around, but the humans weren’t paying any attention to the elves in the corner. He sighed heavily, muttering under his breath.

“Okay, I’m not f-following you at all,” he said, flicking his cigarette like a cat flicking its tail. “You said it’s at an opera house?”

“Yes.”

“So—”

“Are you any good with kids?” Adar cut in with an uncomfortable lilt.

Rorri paused and squinted. “What…”

The realization hit him before he could finish questioning it. It seemed he’d forgotten how to blink, as his pupils filled with foreboding visions, eyes set upon a far-away point in the empty air.

“Please tell me you’re not s-suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” he finally breathed, furrowing his brow until his eyes shut tight.

“Well, I don’t know what you’re thinking, so I could just say nothing if you’d like.”

“Why are you like this?” Rorri groaned.

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“I was born this way,” Adar shrugged. “But anyway, we’ve been hired to entertain the kids while their parents are watching the opera.”

Rorri fell into the wall with a thump as if he’d been kicked in the chest, then slid all the way down, deflating into a heap on the floor.

“This doesn’t make s-sense,” he said, burying his face in his hands.

“That’s what I thought, too, but I guess she works for whatever family is hosting the event, and she… uh… dropped the ball in getting the kid’s show sorted.” Adar glanced towards the humans, lips screwed into a frown. “It’s in a week, and all of the actual professionals are booked, so…”

Rorri gave a bewildered, frustrated chortle without a trace of good humor behind it.

“No, no, this is absurd,” he said, tapping his knees with neurotic speed. “I’m not a goddamn babysitter. There’s no way—”

“The pay is quite good,” Adar calmly interrupted.

Rorri hesitated. “How m-much?”

“Sixty Stars. An even split, twenty apiece.”

Rorri’s jaw dropped. His mind raced through a series of calculations. This was more money than he’d ever seen at once, possibly even more than the sum of what they’d made since the warehouse. It seemed too good to be true, apart from what they’d have to do to earn it, but even Rorri, who thoroughly detested the company of children, would be hard-pressed to pass up the opportunity.

“…Shit,” he finally cursed, hanging his head. “I hate you s-so much.”

“Don’t hate me. Hate that one over there.” Adar gestured towards Bilge. “He said there’s a rumor that the Widow will be there, but I’m pretty sure he’s just saving face.”

“Saving face?”

“I think he’s actually excited.”

Rorri snorted and glanced at Bilge, whose head bobbed sleepily over the back of his chair. “You think?”

Adar nodded. “They’re talking about doing a puppet show,” he said as he knelt before the drink shelf and glanced over the bottles, turning them so that the labels faced properly outwards.

“Ugh…” Rorri’s nose crinkled into a grimace.

“Oh, lighten up,” Adar said. “Just try to have fun with it. A little whimsy might do you some good, anyway.”

Rorri huffed. “I just don’t like kids, alright?” he said, tapping the ash from his cigarette, though it had burnt to barely a stub. “They’re loud, and annoying, and f-filthy, and—”

“We sort of figured you’d feel that way,” Adar said as he uncorked a bottle and poured a dark liquid into a glass. “You do seem rather out of touch with your inner child.”

“What—”

“Which is why we thought we’d put you on special effects. Minimal interaction, just a few magic tricks.” He sipped the drink, curling his lip as he swallowed. “God, that’s awful.”

The humans came to a lull in their conversation, plunging the room into a sudden, uncomfortable silence. Rorri’s head spun. He just didn’t know how to interact with kids. Their babbling never made any sense, and they had such big, judgy eyes, and it would almost certainly be their first time seeing a forest elf, which would only give them cause to stare and ask every manner of stupid, offensive question…

“So,” Adar said, breaking the silence, “what was your relationship with your parents like?”

Rorri gave Adar a long-suffering look, then crushed the cigarette stub with his heel and headed for the door.

“I’ll s-see you both at the house,” he called, not stopping to give so much as an insincere wave good-bye.

“Where’s the Woodie off to?” the dark-haired woman said in Human.

“Home, I think,” Adar sighed. “He can be a bit antisocial…”

Bilge lifted his teetering head. “He’s good, though,” he mumbled. “Trust me, mate… he’ll get the job done…”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Adar said, watching the bottom of his glass.

Before long, the human women were joking with each other again, all but forgetting the forest elf. But following Rorri’s departure, Bilge lapsed into an unusual silence. His company seemed not to notice or care. He had been drinking, after all, and he was the sort to drink himself to sleep. Even Adar would not catch the mournful twinkle that dwelt behind the human’s deep brown eyes, weighing his head further down, until his chin nearly touched his chest.

 

*******

 

The next week zipped by. Rorri’s high waxed and waned, though he kept it constantly dribbling. He painted the stand behind which Bilge and Adar would perform, and he learned his cues, responding with simple magic tricks – illusions of light and sound, nothing more advanced than what he’d learned in his first handful of lessons. The inn’s blurry memory constantly reeled through his head, the first thought he’d have upon waking, and the last before falling asleep. He counted the days until his next lesson, wanting so badly to see her again, to resolve that unspoken tension…

But, one morning, as he went for his breakfast smoke, Rorri nearly stepped on a letter tucked under a rock outside the front door. Its corners curled from the morning dew, and it was sealed with red wax, stamped with a familiar little bird.

 

Mr. Tipón,

 

Regretfully, I must cancel our upcoming session.

Please plan to attend the following week at your regularly scheduled time.

 

Regards,

Lady Rosari

 

No shimmer, no sweet, magic scent. He thought to burn it or toss it away, but instead, he stowed it under his pillow, for reasons even he did not understand. That same morning, he gobbled an extra bud of Snow, seeking to lift the weight from his chest. It worked, for as long as it worked. After, the weight returned, somehow heavier, so he napped until he couldn’t, and when he awoke he gobbled some more.

 

On the day of the show, Rorri slid on his periwinkle shirt and arrived at the Nellywing Opera House on time, joyless, dutiful, tired, and high, ready to suffer through the job so he could get paid and leave. He already planned to meet with his Weatherman after the show. He knew he shouldn’t, but it was all he wanted, to shrug off his weights and dance in the Rain, carefree – if only for as long as it poured, until the sun came out, until his legs gave way, and his body collided with the cold, hard ground.

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