II: Underground Blues

Levi

A dirty rag could never wipe something clean, could it? Yet round and round it went. Grimy grey cloth swinging back and forth from the barkeep's big hand, swiping at the matted pewter. It seemed pointless, but people did stupid things like that all the time.

Levi poked a cracked nail into the gnarled lines on the counter top, and shuddered when he saw the dark crescent of dirt that gathered beneath it. Using another nail, he rooted around, scraping, scraping away at the dirt until nothing but a bright spot of blood showed. His finger started to throb with the rhythm of his beating heart, and centred around the quick was a bright spot of pain, but at least he got the dirt out.

He watched the barkeep pour himself a stiff one. Just what made it a stiff one wasn't clear, because poured into one of the small pewter cups it looked as liquidy as any other drink, only the smell was fouler; a mix of kerosene and foetid water. The Rusted Hinge was famous for its spirits, or at least that's what it said on the chalkboard beside the rows of bottles, and the recipe was a well kept secret. Levi had asked what was in the liquor once, because it was bound to be something strange, but the old barkeep had simply smiled and said, "Poison."

It can't be a very good poison, since no one's died yet.

The Button-man was here most nights, staring down into his hands and smiling as he let the buttons spill through his fingers. Sometimes he whispered things to them, but Levi had never been able to make out the words.

He slumped on his stool beside the bar, resting his chin in his hands. Not thinking of the faint sour smell that always clung to him after he'd been here. Or the greasy film covering the counter top. The rag had taken hold of his eyes, tracing its path as it swivelled around the rim of the cup, wiping away the lip marks and smearing old saliva all across the pewter's dull surface.

The keep paused. He held the cup to his eyes and peered inside. Evidently pleased with what he saw there, he replaced it on the shelf and picked up another one.

Levi heard the door open behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps across the floor. A man came to the bar, taking a seat next to him. He was old-ish, curly haired, and had silly reddish fuzz growing on his upper lip.

Once, someone Levi never thought about anymore, told him there'd come a day when hair would grow on his face, and in other places. As if that old bastard would know anything about it. Sure, hair grew in all sorts of places on him , but he and Levi were nothing alike, and never would be. The fingers on his right hand flexed, old scars standing out as bright white slashes against his knuckles. Punching the old bastard had been like punching a stone.

Shouldn't think of that though. It was a long time ago. Forgotten.

"Hey," said the curly haired man. His voice was low and soft, like Button's voice when he talked to his buttons. "Hey there boy, what's your name?"

If Levi pretended none of this was happening, maybe the man would go away.

"C'mon now, it's just a name. How old are you?" The man's wide mouth smiled. His plump upper lip glistened wetly as if he had been trailing it with his tongue. A hand snaked out from underneath the man's cape. Stained fingers with dark bands of dirt underneath their nails, spread and ready to touch. Too quick for the other to react, Levi seized the man by the wrist and twisted it aside. Fingers closing around knobbly bones beneath a wrapping of pale, pink skin. The stranger let out a startled yelp, trying to pull his hand back. Levi squeezed, and the sounds issuing from the other's throat turned into a cry of pain. A glimmering bead of moisture clung to the end of thick lashes, framing a fresh gleam of fear in the man's eyes.

The room went quiet as the loud, greasy men beside the window paused their chatter.

"Hey, that hurts!" the man said, twisting in Levi's grip. "Quit it or you'll be sorry! I'm warning you, I know some people you wouldn't wanna meet. They'll cut your skin off, piece by piece until you're all red and wet. I know, 'cause I seen it happen. But I tell you what, you be a nice boy now and lay off it, and we'll forget this ever happen. Whaddaya say?"

"Go away," said Levi and shoved him back. The stranger cried out, his arms flailing, but before he managed to right his balance Levi slammed the sole of his boot into the man's chair and sent them both spinning. He crashed into a nearby table, landing in a mangled heap on the dirty, unkempt floor. The bottles rattled as a dense cloud of dirt rose from the spot where the stranger lay. His chest heaved, fat lips distending as his mouth opened wide, and he panted soundlessly like a fish on dry land. A thin, sucking sound issued from his throat as he raised a trembling finger to Levi.

"You hurt me," he wheezed in a tone like he couldn't believe this had happened to him, of all people. "What did you do that for—you get dropped on the head as a baby or something?"

"Pah! That," said the barkeep. The cup he was polishing made a loud clunk as he set it down. "Just whaddaya think you're about, pestering the boy like that? Begone with you! This here ain't a place for the likes of you!"

The stranger climbed to his feet, but just as he got up the 'keep motioned as if to throw his rag at the man. The stranger ducked, and an eruption of loud laughter from the greasy men made the bottles behind the bar rattle. It looked pretty silly, all in all. The stranger winced as if someone had hit him, and he retreated without another word. He slunk out like a kicked dog, the door swinging shut behind him.

The old barkeep's breath puffed out, and he shrunk back into his usual, bent posture.

Not long after, the Button-man climbed to his feet and stumbled out. He never bought anything to drink as far as Levi could tell, yet he always bumbled around like he'd had too much. Only the greasy men remained, and they smelled like they would stay until closing time. The biggest man out of the three drank like it was a competition, sloshing and gulping as if he was drowning in it. The empty cup hit the tabletop with a loud bang , and the brick-shaped man belched so loud it rattled every bottle in the establishment. He slapped himself somewhere—probably on the chest, and not in the face like he ought to—with what sounded like a meaty hand. Then, for no reason at all, he laughed. A strangely light and tittery sound, like some deranged granny.

"Aye aye, there you said it. Not half bad at all," he said, in a voice deep as a mineshaft. "Right lads? Not half bad." He burped again and his two friends gurgled their agreement.

"Ye Volker, did ya see those mounds? I'd like to be buried there, I would!" a thinner, slightly honking voice added over the sound of braying laughter. Someone let loose a wet-sounding fart, the smell wafting to where Levi sat was like a slap. He pushed up his shirt collar as his knuckles turned white, and he breathed through the thin fabric, missing the sour stench of the 'Keep's brown ale.

He heard a third voice rasp in a sort of shouted whisper. "It'd be a right shame to go hacking right and left without giving her the time of day, that it would. Ain't like anyone'd know either way, methinks. Before we…" His words ground to a halt, and he paused the way stupid people do when they tried to keep from saying something stupid. "Bring the matter to a close." He sounded pleased with himself.

There was a thwacking sound of something meaty hitting something hard and hollow, like an idiot's skull.

"Shut yer damn' hole ya dumb fuck," said the hulking giant. "Now don't go sticking it anywhere it doesn't belong or ya might lose it real fast. We're to put a nice wide smile on 'er, ear to ear, nothing more."

"Yea yea… Bit of a waste, 's all," the idiot sulked.

"Bah, ya see one snapper and ya've seen 'em all. Go down to Frisky Frieda's if ya must. Ya might even use that shrivelled plum ya call a brain an' imagine it's that sweet maid's field you're ploughing. That or shut your fuckin' trap about it Eys, 'cause I'm getting real sick of listenin' to your whinging."

The faint smell of something warm and sweet drew Levi's attention away from the disgusting men. He looked up and saw the barkeep's wife approach. She was much younger than the old man, with big wavy locks of light, glossy hair. Her wide hips swayed slightly when she walked, and her round cheeks were always rosy. Unlike most people, she looked happy all the time.

She carried a cup in her hands, soft wisps of smoke drifting from it. The sweet smell was stronger now, rich, and familiar.

"Here you go, boy," she said and set the cup before him. The cloying odour of honeyed milk was unmistakable now, heated just to the point of boiling. It wasn't the first time she's slipped him something sweet, even though the cost must be very high.

"Don't you worry, it's on the house."

Sweet things always seemed to cling to the inside of his mouth, residue sticking to his teeth like some greyish goop. But the cup looked pretty clean, like she'd washed it in water just for him. His hands closed around the smooth metal, nice and warm against his fingers.

"Do you have a family?" she asked.

He shook his head.

She leaned over the countertop, resting her elbows against it. She had thick arms whose smooth skin looked as though it would be very soft to touch. Her frown would have made him wonder if he'd said something bad, only he hadn't actually said anything.

"Isn't there anyone at all waiting for you?"

He shook his head again. There had been once, but not anymore.

"Pity, but I suppose I should have known. Many folk here don't have no-one. You'll always be welcome here though, remember that." She reached out and touched his hair lightly.

It made a not unpleasant shiver pass down his spine, but it would've been better if she hadn't done it. It would be better if she wasn't kind to him at all, because if she kept on doing it, he might start to like her. And there was one thing life had taught him, it was that the moment you let yourself care about someone, they would let you down.