HIIII! Long time that we don't see, right? Yeah, yeah, I'm really sorry for the lateness. Other business take all my time, and even when I had some left…I was sooooo tired and lame. =_=
But, now I'm here and I brought you the next chapter. Hope you'll enjoy it! XD
Disc: Do I really need to write it all times?! Uff, ok, I don't own -Man…
I have to thank my beloved beta Flattered by Mockery. YOU'RE GREAT!!!
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Chapter 1
When he woke up, his head hurt so badly that it seemed like it would explode. 'Now I understand what Allen meant when he told me about Cross and hammers.' This thought was immediately followed by another: 'Wait a moment.… If my head hurts so much, it means that I'm alive. If I were dead, I'd feel better.'
He tried to open his eyes. What he saw was a little room with wood walls and straw on the floor. It was difficult to see all the details well, because of the poor light. Actually, the only weak glimmer filtered through a little split between the wood boards. In spite of this, he could tell that there was a small door closed by a grating on the opposite side of the room. He quickly realized that he was inside a jail and, judging from the movements that he felt, he was still on a ship. Probably the pirate ship that had attacked him.
Certainly, the news didn't cheer him up. Being imprisoned by pirates could be a destiny worse than death. He wondered why they hadn't killed him yet. He saw that the pirates had attacked his ship and killed anyone they met, unarmed merchants or simply sailors, and, from what he could see, he was the only one inside the jail.
So why had they let him live, he whom had also killed some members of their crew?
He tried to move, but noticed that his hands were bound together with a tight rope at an iron hook above his head. His legs, instead, were free, probably to let him walk when they landed.
Suddenly he noticed one thing: the dark corner to his right side wasn't due to the darkness of the room, but to a blindfold that covered his eye.
He remembered the wound he got during the fight that would probably cost his eye. He had seen many sailors with deep scars and disabilities at Venice's harbour, mostly as a result battles with pirates or with enemy ships from other cities.
Now that he thought about it, his mother had frequently told him that his father had a large scar on his forehead. He claimed to have received it when he had defeated a pirate captain during a duel.
How ironic.
Now he would have a scar like his father, the only man whom he had never, ever wanted to resemble. He smiled sadly.
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He didn't remember his real name, if he had ever had one. He was raised in the alleys of Venice, where hunger and poverty reigned like queens.
His father was one of the many sailors that passed through this harbour, and his mother a girl who gained the little she had by working as a dressmaker. She was easily fascinated by the many stories that the man told her; tales about adventurous voyages on the sea and unknown countries. But after a little, he left without a word, leaving behind him a girl without money, and a child.
His mother raised him as best as she could, but he had to quickly learn how to survive by himself, stealing food from market or some money from the bags of merchants and sailors. When she died of an illness, he barely noticed her absence, if not for the loss of a person to talk with. His life simply continued going on like always. Fighting to the death and the loneliness, day by day.
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He heard some murmurs near him. Two voices. They talked quietly, like they were afraid of being heard, and in Arabian. Luckily, he had studied this language well enough, and he could understand what they were saying.
"For what fucking reason must we let that guy live?"
"Orders from the captain. I don't think you want to disobey."
"I didn't say I would. But that bastard killed Assan and three others of us. And look what he did to my arm. You don't have any idea how much I want to cut off his head."
"Well, you have to restrain yourself. I can't forget what he had done either, but it was just this that attracted the captain's attention. He killed four men all alone, and they weren't novice pirates. For this reason, the captain wants to keep him. Maybe we can gain some profit from him."
At those words, the red-head gulped. 'Gain profit? They want…to sell me?'
"Ah, ah. That's right. Since the merchandise we stole from the ship was cheap, maybe we can earn something from him."
At this moment, the door opened, and the two men walked inside. One of them brought a jug in his hands.
"Well, well, how is our little swordsman doing, eh?" said the pirate with a large grin and a bandana on his head.
The red-head looked up, his expression half confused and half annoyed, pretending to not understand what they said. A captive that knew your language was precious in more ways than one. He actually didn't want his 'value' raising more.
"Oh, it seems that the boy didn't understand what we're saying… What a pity, I would really like to tell him what I think," continued the pirate. "Well, I can always explain myself in another way."
And after that, he slapped him hard.
The hit didn't help the red-head's already atrocious headache, but the he limited himself to closing his eyes for a moment, and then looking up again with a blank expression.
This seemed to unnerve the man a lot. "What the fuck was that, playing the brave part? You'll be a little less arrogant when I finish with you." He snarled, and he raised his arm to hit the boy again.
But then, the other pirate halted him. "Stop—if you ruin him too much, we'll risk earning nothing. Don't you think what'll happen to him is already punishment enough?"
The man thought a little about it. "Bah, do what you want!" he yelled, and then he left. The other sighed, and then turned around to look at the boy.
"Here, I brought some water for you. Drink, this way we can – damn, I forgot you don't understand…" He kneeled near him. "Drink," he said, and then he put the jug near the lips.
The boy drank the fresh liquid greedily, even if the taste was disgusting. His dry throat needed it.
"Good boy."
When he finished, the pirate got up. "I'm going to bring you some food and something to change your bandage with." He take a look to the wound. "Uhm, our doctor did very good. He put some strange liquid on your eye, he said it will help you with the pain. It's really a bad wound, but for luckily for you—or unluckily—you won't die from it."
After that, he left, closing the jail door.
The red-head sighed. 'If nothing, there's someone here that wants me alive.'
His headache was slowly getting better, but not his situation. He was a captive on a pirate ship, and he was going to be sold to some unknown person when they arrived at the harbour. And what was worse; this was the only reason he was being kept alive.
He wondered what his friends were doing in Venice. He smiled: When Bookman discovered what had happened to him, he'd surely get mad. But, thinking about it, the old man was always mad at him.
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He was barely ten when, for the first time, he met the person who everyone simply called Bookman. He was a rich landowner with acquaintances to the majority of Venice's powerful men. But moreover, he was a learned scholar. The rumours about him said that he had an answer for every question, and that even the Doge required the help of his infinite knowledge.
Their first meeting was not very easy.
Bookman was going toward the area of the harbour, for a meeting with a sailor who had just arrived with something for him.
He was a very short man of indefinite age; nearly bald if weren't for a long lock of white hair that stood up in the middle of his head. He wore simple and comfortable clothes, although his social extraction, of oriental style (1) and he always had two rings of bold, black make-up around his eyes. He was a very wordless person, speaking only the necessary, but every time he opened his mouth, you could feel the authority and the firmness hidden in his voice.
It wasn't new to be seeing him in that part of the city; they said he had some commercial activities and even his own ship. He was well looked-for in the area, because he often engaged people for commissions or little tasks. He also paid very well, given that some people risked dying, to avoid poverty.
That day, he had just retired his merchandise and was returning home with the package under his arm (he always walked alone despite his age), when a boy with bright red hair bumped into him. They both fell, and the package escaped from his hands, falling on the floor and scattering its contents all around.
He got up quickly, brushing the dust from his clothes and suggesting with an annoyed voice: "Well, boy, you could look where you were going, instead of running like you were the only one on the road."
The 'boy', who was still on his knees, lifted his green eyes to look at him.
"I-I'm really sorry, it's just…" he began, but then he heard the noise of running feet behind him. "Oh shit! I have to run." He got up quickly. "I'm really, really sorry for this, but I can't stop now. Goodbye." He had started to leave, when the old man grabbed his arm.
"Let me go! If they catch me, I'll be in trouble. Please!" he begged, trying to free himself.
But the older had a grip stronger than he'd thought. The man mumbled something like 'stupid boy', then he pulled the red-head hard to the side, making him tumble in a little alley near the street. The younger didn't have the time to react, and he ended up on the floor of the alley.
He was about to get up and say something, when he heard the voices of his pursuers that were arriving. "Oh, good morning, Mister Bookman! It's good to see you here. For chance, have you seen a boy pass by here? He's easy to remember; he has hair red like the flames of the Infer."
He heard the old man answer with a low, but quite annoyed voice. "That idiot? Of course I saw him, he bumped into me. Who did you think made my things fall on the floor? He came over to me, made me fall and then he ran away without a word of excuse! If I had him here, I'd teach him what the Infer is."
The boy stopped breathing.
"You are perfectly right, Mister Bookman, that boy is a criminal! Do you know what he did? Now three gentlemen can't stop for even one moment on the street, and someone steals their things. For this reason we were running after him. Did you see which direction he went in?"
"Bah, I didn't look hard, but I saw that he went straight on this street. After that, I don't know."
"Nevermind, you were very helpful! Thank you very much, and goodbye."
And after this, the three men left.
"Well, maybe they're gentlemen, but they didn't help a poor old man pick up his things," mumbled Bookman. "I hope that some stupid boy has the decency to help me," he said, turning toward the alley.
The mentioned boy made some hesitant steps, a confused expression on his face.
"Why did you help me?" he asked.
"Because if they had caught you, you wouldn't be able to repay the trouble you caused me by helping me to pick up my things and bring them home,, don't you agree? Or did you think you could escape?"
The boy looked at him for a moment, then smiled shyly. "Well, anyway… Thanks."
The only answer he got was a 'Tsk'. So he turned and started to pick up the things which he'd made fall.
"Mister, do you often go around the harbour with a package of books?" he asked with clear irony.
"Well, is something wrong with that?"
"No, nothing. It's just strange. The people around here only have pockets full of money if they're merchants coming in for affairs, and empty stomachs if they're the poor that live here. It's the first time in my life that I've seen books."
The old man observed him with intensity. "This means you don't know how to read?"
The boy quickly turned around to look at him. "I didn't say that! My mother might've taught me very little, but she started with the alphabet. And afterwards I trained myself alone. Now I'm good enough," he said with pride. "For example, that emblem says 'Shoemaker'."
Bookman expression didn't change.
"And so why would a smart and educated boy like you go around stealing things from people?"
The boy expression became offended "I didn't steal from them! I only picked up some food they left 'without protection'… And anyhow, what right do you have to criticize me? Surely you don't have to face the famine and the cold every day. You look down to people like me, like we're rubbish. But at least we gain the food we need every day, instead of living in rich from things obtained without any worth!" His voice rose to nearly a scream while he talked.
But the older remained still.
After a while, the red-head calmed down. He knelt down to finish his task, a little embarrassed for raising an angry voice to the person who, in the end, had just saved him.
"Young, smart and also with a good attitude," whispered Bookman. "Yes, a very interesting boy."
The boy got up, and Bookman did a thing he hadn't done for a long time. He smiled.
"I think you'll entertain me a lot," he said. "If you've finished, follow me. You must bring my books to my home, remember?"
He left, walking fast as the other stumbled behind him.
"If you do well and don't let them fall again, when we arrive, I could also offer you something to eat, okay?"
The boy looked at him, surprised. "More than okay, Mister!"
"Stop with this 'Mister', you make me feel old. Call me Bookman."
"Okay."
"And your name is…?"
The boy chuckled. "My mother didn't speak with me enough to let me remember my name. She often called me 'Ehy, you' but that's not very good," he said, both sarcasm and sadness in his voice.
"Well, I can't continue to call you 'boy'. We'll decide a name for you. Any ideas?"
The boy shook his head.
"In that case, what do you think of 'Lavi'?"
He thought a moment, then he smiled. "Yes, Lavi is good."
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Since that day, Lavi had been his name. From that day, his life changed forever.
'No, nothing had changed in the end,' he thought. 'I'm still an idiot who can do nothing but find trouble.'
He lowered his head until his chin rested on his chest, and he closed his eyes.
'But this time, there's nobody to help me.'
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(1) In this epoch, Oriental means Persian or Arabian.
I really hope to put Tyki in the next chapter, so please, have a little more patience…
Like always R&R, please!!