The Lisbon Collection is composed of seven pieces.
First, there is the diamond. The only time I saw it was when my mother took it out of its velvet pouch when I begged to take a look. It was so shiny that it caught the light reflecting off the kitchen sink, sending brilliant flashes around the room. My mother wore it on her wedding day. I saw it on her hand in the wedding photos before they were taken down.
Then, there is the ruby. Fixed on a necklace of fine gold, it is flanked by a fleet of semi-precious stones. This one piece is displayed in the foyer for all visitors to see.
Next to it is the emerald, hung on a chain of silver. It is said to have healing properties and is brought from its glass prison when somebody is sick.
The amethyst sits on a tiara of fairy-wrought steel. It takes centre in the display.
The jade has been worked into a bracelet of glassy milkiness.
The amber is not fixed, simply a piece of smooth rounded honey, lit from within by a natural fire.
But the piece that I remember most is the twin set of sapphire, fixed to earrings. They were my mother's favourite, swinging prettily with her step and the sway of her hair.
~oOo~
The blacksmith of Aralusia is an old man with molten eyes and rope-like fingers. He regarded Kurapika and I, standing just inside his workshop, with something like dismay.
'Why won't you go out with Blaize, girl?' he said.
Ah, I thought. Here we go again.
'Because he has a girlfriend, sir,' I replied.
'Ach,' he spat, 'girlfriend schmelfriend. She is no good.'
This happens every time I visit the blacksmith, dating back to ye good olde days when I was just starting to take on waitressing gigs in the summer. The café that I was working at, already a seasoned pro after ten minutes of training, had a regular who came in on Sunday mornings. His son had a massive stutter-inducing knee-knocking crush on the curly blonde with berry-stained lips. The father preferred me, thinking I embodied the whole hardworking diamond-in-the-rough girl. The tips were fantastic. The conversation? Not so much.
Back in that two-hour tunnel ('It was two hours two hours ago!' – Leorio), I had told Kurapika, Gon and Leorio that I bribed the blacksmith to make my twin scythes. That was a lie. I had been on the other end of the power scale; the one being bribed. The bribe was the scythes. The return was a date.
So while the steel was being poured into their moulds, Blaize and I went to the park and sat on a bench, each thinking we were the most unhappy. We looked in opposite directions and sucked sourly on our slurpees. Later, he mustered up the courage to leave a note for the berry-stained girl amongst their used plates and cups and the next time, she left a milk heart in his coffee. I heard about all this from the blacksmith, who seems to have completely given up on milk, but unfortunately not on me.
Now, the blacksmith fixed his beady eyes on me. 'And you,' he said. 'Did you get a boyfriend?' He nodded at Kurapika, who was still taking in the dark, sweltering heat of the forge and the strange shapes of dangerous-looking equipment crowding the small space. I caught the moment he realised the only exit was the one behind us.
'No,' I said, 'I did not.'
The blacksmith's reply was immediate: 'Good.'
Kurapika looked a little offended.
Feeling like this had gone on long enough, I gave the blacksmith Mizuken's piece of paper with his chicken scrawl order. To Mizuken's credit, the blacksmith really did recognise the handwriting.
Released of our prime duty for the time being, Kurapika and I took a wander through the woods. We passed the river where Roger liked to spend his time daydreaming productively, rod in hand, head in clouds. He waved at us from the far bank as we slipped and slid on the moss which gauzed the rocks and boulders on our side. Why didn't you walk on the grass, you ask? Because it's beautiful close to the water.
I took a deep breath in. There Mizuken lived in the forest too, but the air is different there. It had smelled piney and crisp. The word that comes to mind is 'thinner'. Here, the air was damper, mossy, and sweet with flowering shrubs. A fist of homesickness punched me in the chest, even though I was home.
A little while later as we were coming into a path of ferns, I changed the topic. 'Do you ever wonder what Gon and Killua are up to?'
Kurapika chuckled. 'Probably no good.'
'It's probably fun, though,' I said, smiling.
'And dangerous,' Kurapika added.
We laughed.
'And Leorio?'
'I predict,' I said slowly, 'that he's trying to study, but he's probably in a bar somewhere with his tie around his head.'
'Have a little more faith in him, Risumi.'
'Yeah, yeah; he'll be working hard to pass his exams.' Then I chuckled. 'I can't believe he's not college age yet. Remember how we all thought he was super old?'
'Some people just have an older look,' Kurapika mused. 'Just like you look younger than you actually are.'
'What?' I said. 'Really?' I looked down at myself, turning my hands and arms out as if they held the secret to how other people see me.
Kurapika continued, 'Back on the ship I would not have guessed you were sixteen. You didn't seem much older than Gon.'
'Gon?' I yelped. 'Gon's a baby!'
'And so is your face,' he shot back. Then, he smirked. 'In fact, you looked like a baby Cleopatra.'
I must have looked baffled, because he drew a line across his forehead, mimicking the cropped bangs I had. The bastard.
'I'll take that,' I said, shrugging my braid over my shoulder. 'Cleopatra was gorgeous. Are you saying I'm gorgeous?'
As soon as the words were out, I wanted to take them back. I clamped a hand over my mouth. Desperately, I tried to think of something to dispel the awkwardness, but Kurapika beat me to it.
'Perhaps,' he said.
I wanted to ask for clarification.
But something held me back.
We continued walking in silence.
After a while, we passed a fire-blackened tree in the woods. It was a charcoal husk, the inside hollow. The story was spontaneous combustion, a saving grace from the heavens for Sumi when she was lost in here and being hunted down by carnivores. Now, I wondered if there was something more to it.
To me, this tree marked the divide between my old life and my new one. In all the years of living with the Kanatas, I had not ventured past this point. It felt like … a violation of their kindness.
Now, I turned to Kurapika.
'Do you want to see my old – I mean – the Lisbon mansion?'
The blonde looked surprised. 'I didn't know they were so close together,' he said.
'They share the same woods,' I explained. 'But they're technically in two different countries – we're in Aralusia, the other side is Reath. But it's not like the border is patrolled in these parts so it's pretty much a free for all.'
We should have just gone home. We really should have, because halfway there it began to rain. Not a mist or a drizzle or even a sprinkling of rain, but fat toad-sized drops which dampened our clothes and spread out, clinging to our skin. The trees did little to shelter us. They, too, bent to the will of the skies.
By the time we reached the eastern edge of the forest, Kurapika looked like a yellow drowned rat.
Stretched below us was a luscious plain divvied up generously by small wooden fences, the kind that you can long-jump over. The sky was a dome of surging grey and white. One plot of land featured a small farmhouse crowded by a zealous apple orchard. One over had neatly combed rows of crops, possibly corn. On the far side was a house with a bard attached, the grass was nibbled down to the roots. But the largest piece of estate was the one closest to us. It had a big all-encompassing lawn. A single white-painted manor, washed grey in the rain, stood.
It was a stately building. The front door was of wood so polished I could make it out from this visibility and distance, shielded from the rain by a tall arch flanked by stately balconies on either side. The windows were sparkling. A Rolls Royce was parked to one side.
I gestured to the house with my palm turned up, as if I were presenting it to him on a platter. 'Mi casa,' I joked, and winced. I had never spoken those words before in my life. Why did I think now was a good time to make this linguistic debut? Inner Risumi dug a hole and climbed inside then pulled the dirt over her body.
Just then, the front doors parted. By instinct, or deeply rooted fear, I hid behind a tree. Its bark was rough and wet, uncomfortable beneath my hands. Kurapika followed me and we both peered around the trunk.
We watched as my grandmother emerged from the house. The reaction was instantaneous. My whole body felt alive with pins and needles. My left leg burned. Heart rate. Up. Pupils. Dilated.
She was older than I remembered, more hunched with a slight limp, and dressed immaculately in a blazer and A-line skirt. Her hair was spun whiteness in a neat chignon. A walking stick was tucked under her arm as if in defiance of her walking abilities. The driver attended her with an umbrella. As she bent to get inside the car, her earring caught the white cloud-glowed light. A flash of brilliant blue.
I felt my blood run cold.
The Rolls Royce drove wetly down the driveway, then away.
Kurapika watched me with furrowed brows. I was seething with barely contained rage: How dare she?
Cold water rushed us from the skies. We went home without speaking. We couldn't if we tried. We sprinted the last stretch and burst into the hallway soaked to the bone. On the floor, a puddle was already spreading.
Breathing hard and shivering from the cold, I stood there for a minute and wiped the hair off my forehead. My tank top was like a second skin. The cargo shorts felt like all its numerous pockets were filled with rock-shaped water. Gradually, my breathing slowed, and I noticed my friend looking at me with an odd look on his face. I raised my eyebrows and he blinked, then looked away.
What a strange boy, I thought as I put my hands on my hips, breath still heaving.
A piece of clothing was thrown over my head. I grabbed it. Kurapika's traditional outer layer? I held it in my hands and asked him with my eyes.
He glanced at me and covered his mouth with his hand, looking away. 'You should…' he trailed off.
I watched him and waited. Should… what?
The tips of his ears were reddening.
'Cover up,' he finished.
I looked down.
Oh dear.
I clutched his clothes to my chest.
'I'm –' I started. 'I'm going to take a shower.'
I bolted upstairs.
I slammed the bathroom door, locked it, and ran to the mirror.
Yep, it was as bad as it had looked back there. And my face – a mortified shade of mauve.
~oOo~
The week passed quickly. First, there was the anger which slowly simmered down to a cool realisation. So dearest grandmother had been involved with the theft after all. And she had pinned it all on me. Her moral compass was a roulette wheel. The cow.
In the early hours of the next morning, as I lied in bed under my window watching patches of clouds shuffle past, I remembered Delphi's words to Kurapika. But she's not dead, I had thought then. Now, I sat up and placed my feet on the cold floor.
The photograph was crushed in the bottom of my bag, under half a canteen of cloudy water. I pulled it out. It was creased.
In the hole that Nicky called his bedroom, the curtains were drawn and there was a distinct sour smell which I identified to be coming from the cans of beer on his dresser. Those, and possibly the socks on the floor. What a slob.
My brother was sleeping with his mouth open. His head was lolling on the lower end of the bed, his feet splayed on the pillow, one hand dangling to touch the floor. His mouth fluttered with a great whistling snore.
I left the photograph on his bedside table, weighted by a half-empty beer can.
He came to find me later when I was in the dojo. I was an attacker today which, contrary to popular (and linguistic) opinion, meant I was the one being attacked. My dad and I stood at the front. Two lines of students took their turns to land a roundhouse kick on us.
Kurapika made it to the front of my line and squared his jaw. His kick landed square on my block and I was pushed back a couple of feet. My dad looked at him approvingly.
We took a water break at half-two. I bowed and walked to the wall while re-tying the belt on my gi. Just as I yanked the thick knot tight, a hand grabbed my arm and hauled me into a corner. It wasn't like total privacy could be achieved in a rectangular gym filled with people all standing around. But Nicky did his best.
'Well?' he whispered. He stood with his back to the room, mine to the wall, and held up the photograph. His tone may have been demanding but his eyes shook.
I nodded.
'Are you sure?' he asked. A desperate edge was creeping into his voice.
I nodded again.
'Does that mean…?'
'It's not a coincidence,' I confirmed.
'Then the fire…' he trailed off.
'I don't think it was spontaneous combustion.'
His eyes widened. 'The Spiders?'
'No,' I said slowly, 'I think it was her.'
'Then the Spiders…'
'Have you heard about nen?' I whispered.
He shook his head.
'I'll tell you later.'
He held up the photograph again. 'How did you get this?'
'Someone gave it to me.'
'Can they be trusted?'
'I don't know,' I replied. I saw my dad making his way over, so I hissed, 'Let's talk about this tonight.'
Nicky agreed. 'Bring him too,' he tilted his jaw in Kurapika's direction.
I nodded.
~oOo~
A/N: Thank you for making it to the end of another chapter! It continues astonish me that there are people out there reading this. And if you've made it to this chapter, it means you read the earlier ones which is a great feat (because the writing… sigh). So, thank you for sticking with me.
It is the wettest Australian summer in two decades. It's okay. I can't be mad. Because at least we're not on fire anymore.
Stay healthy xx
