( STORY )
from: CHAPTER EIGHT : LADROA ELEGY
characters: KUAN, The SHOEMONGER
In a desperate battle against the Hundred Curses assassins Dragon-Tail and The Shoemonger in the center of Ladroa's Puerto district, Kuan was given a near-fatal dose of Goran di Frezzi's Black Tear concoction. While recovering at the Hospice of the Varantine Order, he discovers that the man in the next bed over is none other than the Shoemonger himself...
THE SHOEMONGER'S FAREWELL
Thin shafts of light filtered through the shutters of the closed ward of the Varantine Order hall. The young man stirred, at first gently, then with an abrupt spasm, his eyes bulged in sudden awareness. Then a cloud settled over his features, and he leaned back against his bed wearily, a wry, sickly smile on his lips.
The girl put a hand under his chin and tipped the contents of a ceramic spoon into his mouth. He gazed at her dolefully. She was dressed in a plain shift, with her hair hidden under a grey wimple, but her large eyes and pale skin fairly glowed in the dim surroundings. She waited for him to swallow the paste he’d been given, and then prepared to leave.
“What a ripe peach. If only I had enough blood left in my body to get it up for her… “ He spoke roughly in a low dialect of the Huanjin tongue. His voice was weak and tired, but he put on a lecherous grin. “But what would a monk care for such things, right?”
The girl paid him no heed. As she passed the curtain that served as a door, she exchanged glances with the massive figure that stood looming at the foot of the bed.
Kuan looked down upon the Shoe-Monger, stoney-faced. His heavy frame swayed slightly from the effort of standing, but he could no longer lie still. He steadied himself with one meaty hand on the footboard of the bed. “I’m not much of a monk.” he muttered.
“More like too much monk.” He managed a raspy chuckle. “Some pair we are. You have enough flesh for three men, and I don't even amount to one anymore.”
The youth’s coppery skin had an undercast of deathly grey, and his steely sinews were tarnished with angry bruises and scabby wounds. Below the knees, his legs ended abruptly as two swaddled stumps, still damp with brownish seepage. His wrists were bound to the bed planks with two metal cuffs intended to hold surgery patients steady.
“I mean, what kind of assholes cut off a guy’s legs while he’s unconscious? That’s some cold shit!”
“It was not my decision. But it is no worse than what you’ve done to so many others. What makes a man so cruel for the sake of coin?”
“A guy’s gotta eat, right? I guess they don’t got no food shortage in the Fragrant Monastery, eh? Y’know, Ladroa is a lot like my hometown of Ma Tzu. Everything’s for sale in the market, even a man’s life. My old man was a nothin’... just a lame-ass street peddler, selling old shoes, reed sandals and shit. He was always shuffling his feet, never goin’ nowhere. Man, he was so damn slow. Told me I should never try to run fast… just walk slow and easy, and keep your head down. I never wanted to end up like him, so I joined a gang and I ran as fast as I could.”
“How does a mere street ruffian learn to fight like you do?”
“Hey, you have your monastery, and your chanting, and your three squares every day, but in the real world, you either get good, or die fast. Old Drunkard Chu couldn’t lead us anymore. He always said you need to be quick to make it on the streets. He didn’t have the chops anymore, so he taught me his Spiral Step, and I became the quickest guy around. Chopper Ko thought he was the big man in Ma Tzu, and he was big... but he wasn’t quick. So, I killed him, and I took his big-ass Logcutter blade. Everyone said it was too damn heavy to fight with, but I sure proved them wrong. Word got around and pretty soon, all of Ma Tzu was afraid of me. I was a real somebody."
He laid his head back and stared at the ceiling, and his voice seemed far away. “Then one day, I went to check on my old man. He was sick, and weak as hell. He kept cryin' and saying I needed to promise him something - to carry on the business after him. Like, selling shoes and shit. He was real upset, and so to shut him up, I said fine, I swear to carry on selling his dumb shoes. Then, just like that, his face went all peaceful-like. He turned and faced the wall, and crack! Smashed his head against the stone. Once, twice… crack, crack. Just like that, dead."
He paused a moment, as if lost in thought. “Shit, I promised that old bastard I'd grant his dying wish... that I would sell fucking shoes. It's so stupid, but I figured I had to do right by that, somehow. Show filial respect and all.”
Kuan had been silent this whole time, his gaze downcast. Now, he glared accusingly. “And now you’re a killer. One of the Hundred Curses.”
“When I’m not selling off the shoes I collect, yeah. I never let my father teach me how to stitch slippers or braid sandals, so I had to keep my supply up somehow. Not like they need 'em once I cut their feet off, right?”
He blew a matted lock of black hair out of his face, and tried to grin wolfishly, obviously taking pleasure in the look of dismay and disbelief on Kuan’s face.
“Hey, pal… how old are you?”
Kuan blinked, surprised by the directness of the question. “I am Kuan Yan, born in the year of the Mantis.”
“No shit… me too. Well… on the cusp of the Monkey, really. I’m Sheng Yen-Yen. Guess that makes us just about the same age.”
“It means that in the same number of years, we both amounted to nothing.”
“Well, if that's the case, I guess I finally made my father’s spirit proud. How about yours, monk? Is he proud of you?”
Kuan gritted his teeth. “I wouldn’t know.”
Sheng rolled his head dazedly. “Whoa… whatever’s in this paste that hot white chick is giving me, it sure takes the edge off. You should try it.”
“I will… not.” Kuan’s knuckles whitened. His grip tightened on the foot of the bed, and the wood creaked under the pressure.
“Hey, what the hell are you so pissed about? Your slow ass won, remember? Or close enough, I guess. Now, I’m a fucking gimp for the rest of my life, however long that’s gonna be. The least you could do is act satisfied!”
“I failed to defeat you with my own skills. Whatever discipline I had, I cast it aside and let my rage control me. I used shameful methods and dishonoured my master and my fallen brothers. And in the process, I also lost the Sleeping Sword, and betrayed Feng Yaoshi’s trust in me.”
“Hell, that thing? All it did was make it way too easy for guys like Dragon Tail and Red Rain to find you. I never learned how to do that chi-sensing shit, otherwise I would have found you by myself, cut you down, and grabbed the Third Scroll, before goddamn Notch-Blade shows up.”
“Notch-Blade? This is the second time I’ve heard that name. You fear this him? Is he so strong?”
“Yeah, he’s strong. What number is he at these days? 93 I think? I’ll bet even Red Rain is scared of him. But let me tell you something about why they’re so afraid of Notch-Blade. There are guys, even in the Curses, who look down on me and my Spiral Step technique because I’m from the streets. Guys like that snooty asshole Dragon Tail, may his soul rot forever in the Hell of Upside-Down Sinners. But at least I’m still real wulin, y’know? I still got a real master, and a real school behind me, right?"
Sheng lowered his voice. "Notch-Blade ain’t any of that. He’s got no technique, no clan, no school. He’s like… just some fucking bumpkin who picked up a busted old sword one day, and started killing real martial artists. You can’t read him, can’t hit him, and you definitely can’t fucking parry him! That’s why they hate him - he shows us that all our magic powers, fancy clans, and secret styles ain’t worth shit. None of us want to see him move up. It’s a good thing he’s stupid as hell, otherwise he’d probably be here already.”
Sheng exhaled at length. “Not that it matters to me anymore. Fuck those other guys in the Curses. And especially fuck Red Rain for setting us up like he did, that creepy bastard! Don’t even know why he’s been hanging around. He was supposed to be looking for the First Scroll, anyway.”
Kuan pondered a moment, then looked puzzled. “Wait, it’s not just me you’re chasing? The Hundred Curses are still seeking both the First Scroll and Third Scroll? That means you aren’t the ones who stole the First Scroll!”
“Yeah, we’re still looking for the First Scroll, too - the one stolen from Hong Fortress by those foreigners. But any Curses who have gone looking for it have disappeared, or turned up dead, so we got no leads on that…”
“Prince Escaeda of Praesidia…” Kuan mouthed the name to himself, feeling a little impressed that he had remembered it.
Sheng continued. “I thought it would be easier to kill a lone monk. Didn’t figure on needing to team up with any other Curses just to get past your friends.”
Kuan nodded sagely. “Whoever has taken the First Scroll has used it to learn the Saint’s Palm. Even Feng Yaoshi couldn’t withstand it. It is unsurprising that anyone hunting this person would be killed. But how did the Hundred Curses know that the Second Scroll was destroyed when Black-Head Li ate it? Why do the Hundred Curses even seek the scrolls? Why is this all happening now?”
Sheng blinked and managed a half-shrug. “Beats me. You gotta ask the new Master lOO. All I cared about was the contract.”
“This new Master lOO... who is he?” Kuan locked eyes with Sheng, his tone insistent.
His thoughts were cut short when the curtain was yanked aside, and a steely hand placed itself on his shoulder. Mariscal Gorgones, the Silver Snake, stood there in all his gleaming, fearsome splendor. Behind him a squad of Ladroa guards waited, in their scowling, bearded masks.
“Your vigil is done, noble monk. Stand guard over this butcher no longer. He will face Ladroa’s justice for his crimes. Return to your bed and rest yourself. I insist.” Gorgones’ polished mask and red glass eyelets were as impassive as ever, but there was a hint of almost-maternal concern in the steely voice.
Sheng sighed, and griped to himself in his coarse Huanjin dialect. “Well, shit. No more sweet drugs and pretty nuns for me. I always figured I’d go out fighting… chop-chop-chop. This sucks!” He tensed for a moment, as if trying to lurch free of the bed, but then shuddered and collapsed weakly.
Kuan spoke in a low voice. “That was my fault. I failed to defeat you and properly avenge my brother monks slaughtered by your hand. But you were still defeated. You will still pay for that crime, and their spirits will rest.”
Sheng squinted at Kuan and chuckled hoarsely. The guards were unlatching his bonds and replacing them with manacles. ”Oh, man. Is that what you think? You wanted to defeat me so bad just to avenge those monks? No shit! That’s rich, pal!”
As the Shoe-Monger was tied and hoisted up by two guards, Kuan leaned in with a dark look. “Even now, must you mock my dishonour?”
“Nah, man. I know how it is. Code of the jianghu, righeous vengeance, and all that. But get this… heh... I didn’t kill those monks.”
Kuan’s eyes bulged. “What?! But, who--”
Sheng grinned. “I mean, I would have killed them, but they were long dead when I got there. All torn apart, body parts everywhere. Big waste of my time, but I figured why leave the shoes behind…?”
The walls seemed to swirl around Kuan. He stepped back drunkenly, and Gorgones eased Kuan's bulk down onto his own bed.
“Guess that’s my parting gift to you, my mantis brother! One last chop!” he cackled unkindly. “You got lucky with me, but you ain’t off the hook yet. While you’re here, cryin' boo-hoo, whoever diced up all your bros is still out there. Better get good, baldy… get good, or die fast!”
As the legless man was carried away, his ragged laughter echoed through the Hall of the Varantine Order. Kuan sat there for a long while after, unmoving and in silence.
“Hey, pal… how old are you?”
Kuan blinked, surprised by the directness of the question. “I am Kuan Yan, born in the year of the Mantis.”
“No shit… me too. Well… on the cusp of the Monkey, really. I’m Sheng Yen-Yen. Guess that makes us just about the same age.”
“It means that in the same number of years, we both amounted to nothing.”
“Well, if that's the case, I guess I finally made my father’s spirit proud. How about yours, monk? Is he proud of you?”
Kuan gritted his teeth. “I wouldn’t know.”
Sheng rolled his head dazedly. “Whoa… whatever’s in this paste that hot white chick is giving me, it sure takes the edge off. You should try it.”
“I will… not.” Kuan’s knuckles whitened. His grip tightened on the foot of the bed, and the wood creaked under the pressure.
“Hey, what the hell are you so pissed about? Your slow ass won, remember? Or close enough, I guess. Now, I’m a fucking gimp for the rest of my life, however long that’s gonna be. The least you could do is act satisfied!”
“I failed to defeat you with my own skills. Whatever discipline I had, I cast it aside and let my rage control me. I used shameful methods and dishonoured my master and my fallen brothers. And in the process, I also lost the Sleeping Sword, and betrayed Feng Yaoshi’s trust in me.”
“Hell, that thing? All it did was make it way too easy for guys like Dragon Tail and Red Rain to find you. I never learned how to do that chi-sensing shit, otherwise I would have found you by myself, cut you down, and grabbed the Third Scroll, before goddamn Notch-Blade shows up.”
“Notch-Blade? This is the second time I’ve heard that name. You fear this him? Is he so strong?”
“Yeah, he’s strong. What number is he at these days? 93 I think? I’ll bet even Red Rain is scared of him. But let me tell you something about why they’re so afraid of Notch-Blade. There are guys, even in the Curses, who look down on me and my Spiral Step technique because I’m from the streets. Guys like that snooty asshole Dragon Tail, may his soul rot forever in the Hell of Upside-Down Sinners. But at least I’m still real wulin, y’know? I still got a real master, and a real school behind me, right?"
Sheng lowered his voice. "Notch-Blade ain’t any of that. He’s got no technique, no clan, no school. He’s like… just some fucking bumpkin who picked up a busted old sword one day, and started killing real martial artists. You can’t read him, can’t hit him, and you definitely can’t fucking parry him! That’s why they hate him - he shows us that all our magic powers, fancy clans, and secret styles ain’t worth shit. None of us want to see him move up. It’s a good thing he’s stupid as hell, otherwise he’d probably be here already.”
Sheng exhaled at length. “Not that it matters to me anymore. Fuck those other guys in the Curses. And especially fuck Red Rain for setting us up like he did, that creepy bastard! Don’t even know why he’s been hanging around. He was supposed to be looking for the First Scroll, anyway.”
Kuan pondered a moment, then looked puzzled. “Wait, it’s not just me you’re chasing? The Hundred Curses are still seeking both the First Scroll and Third Scroll? That means you aren’t the ones who stole the First Scroll!”
“Yeah, we’re still looking for the First Scroll, too - the one stolen from Hong Fortress by those foreigners. But any Curses who have gone looking for it have disappeared, or turned up dead, so we got no leads on that…”
“Prince Escaeda of Praesidia…” Kuan mouthed the name to himself, feeling a little impressed that he had remembered it.
Sheng continued. “I thought it would be easier to kill a lone monk. Didn’t figure on needing to team up with any other Curses just to get past your friends.”
Kuan nodded sagely. “Whoever has taken the First Scroll has used it to learn the Saint’s Palm. Even Feng Yaoshi couldn’t withstand it. It is unsurprising that anyone hunting this person would be killed. But how did the Hundred Curses know that the Second Scroll was destroyed when Black-Head Li ate it? Why do the Hundred Curses even seek the scrolls? Why is this all happening now?”
Sheng blinked and managed a half-shrug. “Beats me. You gotta ask the new Master lOO. All I cared about was the contract.”
“This new Master lOO... who is he?” Kuan locked eyes with Sheng, his tone insistent.
“Don’t know. Never saw him, but I know he’s strong. Came from outside the clan only a few months ago. Killed both 099 and Master lOO in a duel, and made it look easy. Then he took Master lOO’s Green Thunder Glaive and declared himself the new boss. Then he issued the contracts for the two scrolls. Assigned our top guys”
Kuan felt vaguely dizzy. It seemed to him that someone should do something with this knowledge. Someone worthy. Someone other than him. But who else was left?
Kuan felt vaguely dizzy. It seemed to him that someone should do something with this knowledge. Someone worthy. Someone other than him. But who else was left?
His thoughts were cut short when the curtain was yanked aside, and a steely hand placed itself on his shoulder. Mariscal Gorgones, the Silver Snake, stood there in all his gleaming, fearsome splendor. Behind him a squad of Ladroa guards waited, in their scowling, bearded masks.
“Your vigil is done, noble monk. Stand guard over this butcher no longer. He will face Ladroa’s justice for his crimes. Return to your bed and rest yourself. I insist.” Gorgones’ polished mask and red glass eyelets were as impassive as ever, but there was a hint of almost-maternal concern in the steely voice.
Sheng sighed, and griped to himself in his coarse Huanjin dialect. “Well, shit. No more sweet drugs and pretty nuns for me. I always figured I’d go out fighting… chop-chop-chop. This sucks!” He tensed for a moment, as if trying to lurch free of the bed, but then shuddered and collapsed weakly.
Kuan spoke in a low voice. “That was my fault. I failed to defeat you and properly avenge my brother monks slaughtered by your hand. But you were still defeated. You will still pay for that crime, and their spirits will rest.”
Sheng squinted at Kuan and chuckled hoarsely. The guards were unlatching his bonds and replacing them with manacles. ”Oh, man. Is that what you think? You wanted to defeat me so bad just to avenge those monks? No shit! That’s rich, pal!”
As the Shoe-Monger was tied and hoisted up by two guards, Kuan leaned in with a dark look. “Even now, must you mock my dishonour?”
“Nah, man. I know how it is. Code of the jianghu, righeous vengeance, and all that. But get this… heh... I didn’t kill those monks.”
Kuan’s eyes bulged. “What?! But, who--”
Sheng grinned. “I mean, I would have killed them, but they were long dead when I got there. All torn apart, body parts everywhere. Big waste of my time, but I figured why leave the shoes behind…?”
The walls seemed to swirl around Kuan. He stepped back drunkenly, and Gorgones eased Kuan's bulk down onto his own bed.
“Guess that’s my parting gift to you, my mantis brother! One last chop!” he cackled unkindly. “You got lucky with me, but you ain’t off the hook yet. While you’re here, cryin' boo-hoo, whoever diced up all your bros is still out there. Better get good, baldy… get good, or die fast!”
As the legless man was carried away, his ragged laughter echoed through the Hall of the Varantine Order. Kuan sat there for a long while after, unmoving and in silence.
