Upside Down

A hanged man has no feet on the ground.

Upside Down

It's been almost two days since I met the Necromancer.

Of course, Des was a nervous wreck when I got home, demanding an explanation for my sudden and literal disappearance. I shrugged and replied simply that I was busy. That didn't satisfy his concern, nor Rolo's or Alex's curiosity, yet they didn't ask any more questions. They just knew I wouldn't answer.

After that, Alex always looked at me with a suspicious eye. Rolo, when he thought I wasn't looking, even scooped my discarded notepaper out of the trash can to read it. And Des was always trying to bribe Simon to tell him what I was up to.

Simon, by the way. After the war ended, all the vengeful ghosts seemed to have disappeared. Then after my visit to Necromancer's, I opened my room to find him lying there.

At first, I thought it was my imagination, but he just wouldn't go away, no matter how much I blinked.

He put down my phone (and I caught a glimpse of the font characteristic for the Kaleidoscope app but I couldn't quite make out what he was reading about). He sat up, then greeted me kindly.

All I could say through my gritted teeth was what he was doing here. He shrugged. What he did tell me was that he had been in the house for a long time, that he had just used up so much energy in the war that he hadn't been able to show himself to us. He said the breeze I sometimes felt in the house was a sign of his presence.

Simon was not very talkative, by the way, he mostly hovered near me, occasionally reading something or watching TV.

I kept trying to find this Dorián Vincze — which proved to be much harder than I imagined.

I went to the pub and asked some of my friends and even Hajnal, but they had never heard of such a person. After that, I approached some of my underworld acquaintances in the city and raised the matter, but they too shook their heads. I began to despair more and more — if not a million times, then not once I thought through the rather colourful list of my acquaintances, but every time I got to the end, no one was able to help me.

So I changed tactics and decided to visit someone who was even aware of how many times someone had been to the toilet that day. So, I decided to visit my dear friend Ruben in the hope of getting some information. This time I left all my friends at home and visited late at night.

Since I had no choice, I knocked on his door. I heard the distinctive sound of the camera focusing and then the inarticulate sound of a rat screaming — but it could have just been Ruben.

"W-what are you doing here?" he squeaked.

"Wanna guess?", I grinned into the camera, "I came for information."

"Get out!" he snarled.

"If you don't let me in...' I said threateningly and held up a rat that I happened to catch on the way there.

I immediately recognized the dark blue collar that distinguished Ruben's rats from the other filthy vermin. The stinking animal writhed in my hand, screaming deafeningly.

"Amber!" cried Ruben, "Not Amber!"

"Are you going to let me in or what?", I asked, and the lock clicked immediately.

I stepped inside and went upstairs to Ruben's study. The door was open there too, so I entered.

The boy was almost immediately in front of me, his tiny eyes glaring hostilely into mine as he tried to lean menacingly into my face — not very successfully, I might add, since he was about two heads shorter than me. Tiny, fat little mouse.

"Give me Amber back, if you value your life," he ordered, and all I could manage was a bored sigh.

"You'll get it back safe and sound if you answer a few questions," I assured him.

Ruben looked with tearful eyes at the writhing rat in my hand, which was already whimpering as if I was torturing it.

"O-okay!" he said, and I threw the filthy animal into his arms.

"What do you want?" he asked as he walked back to his desk.

He jumped up onto the cushioned chair, which creaked painfully under his weight. His eyes were fixed on the huge, flashing monitors as he stroked the rat in his lap. I stepped behind him and leaned against the back of the chair.

"I want information on a certain Dorián Vincze," I answered, "All I know about him is that he's hiding in this city and he's very, very much in trouble with the necromancers."

"A moment," said the rat, and then he began to slap his keyboard furiously.

"That's strange..." he whispered, his eyes still scanning the lines snaking through the computer at incredible speed.

"What is it?", I asked.

"I'm not aware of a person called Dorián Vincze being in town,' he replied unsure.

"Keep trying," I instructed, "See if you can find some scraps of information."

Well, Ruben didn't find anything, even after ten minutes.

"All right, look for something else," I said, "He was born in 1993."

The rat slapped the keyboard again.

"That's even stranger," he muttered quietly, "There's no record of anyone in the country born with that name in '93... Nor even in the three years before or after."

I clicked my tongue.

"Are you looking for a ghost?" muttered Ruben to himself, "It's as if he didn't exist at all!"

I clenched my fist. "This is much, much harder than I thought."

The rat leaned back in his chair, which gave another painful squeak, and then he folded his hands and sighed. "There is nothing you can do if I can't find him, there is no way he exists."

"I must find him," I said, and then began to think.

"Tell me, Ruben, there are three eminent informants in this town, are there not?" I inquired.

"Yes," he replied, bored.

I'm third in the ranking and Ruben is first thanks to his rats.

"Who is second?", I questioned.

He turned his head sideways in contemplation. "I don't really know him."

"I didn't ask if you knew him, I asked who he was," I reminded him.

"His name is Zénó," Ruben told me.

"And where can I find him?"

"The owner of the Goblin, though few people know that," he shrugged.

Without hesitating any longer, I started towards the exit.

"Shaytan," he called, and I stopped, but did not turn back.

"Are you involved in something that is none of your business again?" he asked.

"Come on," I said, "I only have a debt to pay."

"Oh," he replied quietly.

"I swear, if you tell me to take care of myself, I'll cry!"

"I just wanted to ask you not to come to see me again in the future," he said.

"I'll think about it," I said, and then I felt a devilish grin spread across my lips. "Well, I thought about it. You ask too much of me."

After that, I said no more, simply left the rathole behind me, and let Ruben stew in his own juice.

(...)

The Goblin Café was located in the shelter of two large trees in the middle of King Street. In front of it, on the terrace, a series of black armchairs and glass tables provided seating for those who preferred to take their orders in the bustle of the street.

The building's name, Goblin Café, was written in simple yet large handwriting on the pleasant peach-coloured wall.

The only café in the whole city catering only to monsters — humans don't usually have coffee at 8 pm, the opening time of this shop unless they work the night shift. Besides, people like me don't really come here unless they have mild suicidal tendencies — monsters don't like mixed-bloods too much.

I entered just as the bell above the door rang softly. For a few quiet moments, they were oblivious to my presence, so I could take note of the situation. It was relatively dark inside, a kind of pleasant twilight, which was also kind to the eyes of the more nocturnal creatures.

The smell of freshly ground coffee immediately wafted into my nostrils. The space was filled with chairs and glass tables, eerily similar to the ones outside, each with ornaments and a drinks tray.

As it was still quite early, I only spotted about a dozen monsters — not a lot, I'd been told they were usually more busy at night. Not far from the entrance, two mages were engaging in small talk, and in one corner a shapeshifter was drinking his black tea with serene elegance studying what looked to me like a stack of office papers.

Further in, near the counter, several shapeshifters were chatting. The counter was positioned at the end of the room, in the middle, with various coffee machines, but I also found a beer tap, which was a bonus. On the shelves on the wall behind the counter were bottles of various spirits, and above them were two price lists with the names.

In front of the counter were cushioned bar stools, one of which I immediately took.

The bartender looked like a man in his late fifties, but his smell gave him away immediately. He was a shapeshifter, too, and a sly fox at that. The old man dressed smartly, just like the waiters in expensive restaurants, and his work clothes included a bow tie. He was wiping a glass.

I heard a low growl to my right — from the group of shifters.

"Mongrel!"

Just what I needed! I sighed deeply and just hoped Ruben hadn't sent me here to die. Bored, I turned to the snarling, snorting wolf already beside me.

"Get out of here, mongrel!" he snarled.

Mongrel... look, who's talking.

Another deep sigh. "I'm not in the mood for this. Can't you just ignore me?"

He grabbed my shirt and pulled me up from my seat. Well, it's a no, I think.

"Would you mind letting me go?", I said, but the wolf continued to snarl in my face.

I sighed again. "Well, that's fine by me."

I put my hand on his wrist and yanked so hard that it got at least dislocated. The wolf began to growl at me in an uncanny voice, and his face became distorted — he began to change.

"Back off, Dani," I heard a raspy voice from a dark corner.

The wolf was startled and turned in fear towards the voice. I was a little surprised too, as I had completely missed him when I entered. I only noticed that the mysterious figure was in the café when he spoke.

The stranger looked really tall and big. He took a few steps forward so I could finally make out his face. My volunteer rescuer looked to be in his early fifties, with auburn hair mixed with grey curls. His face was quite noticeably wrinkled, with a slit in one eye and a dangerous half-smile on his lips.

"That mongrel saved my son's life," he added.

"What?" said I and the wolf at the same time.

We exchanged a hateful glance and then turned our attention back to the old man to see if he could tell us where he got it from. The old man stepped closer to me, and even I had to look up at him — I'm a hundred and ninety centimeters, for God's sake!

He was a good head taller than me in length and three times my size in width. He looked like a giant from a bedtime story. He took a deep puff of his cigar, which smelled as sweet as honey, and then he gave me a big grin and ruffled my hair. His palms were so big he could fit my whole head in them!

"Erm," I muttered in confusion, "I don't understand what's happening."

Meanwhile, the wolf, ears, and tail tucked, scurried back to his pack.

The old man scratched his brownish-white stubbles. "Are you the fallen king's brat? The resemblance is negligible."

"Excuse me," I tried to draw his attention to my incomprehension.

I immediately went into extra polite mode. When was the last time I used that word? Did I use it at all? In any case, I felt it was advisable to be very, very polite to him if I wanted to survive my encounter with the Grizzly.

"I don't understand anything," I repeated.

"You're kind of short," he wasn't even listening to me, he was busy feeling my biceps, "Are you eating properly?"

"Sir," I said before he finally noticed that I had been trying to address him for about two minutes.

"Come on, don't be so formal," he grinned, as he patted my shoulder with such force that I thought he was going to tear it off, "It makes me feel so old. You can call me Vid, all my friends call me Vid."

"All right, Mr Vid," I said slowly, "Do we know each other?"

"I told you, don't be so formal, kid. It's all right to call me simply Vid," he corrected me, and then shouted in the opposite direction, "Alfonz! Come on and hurry up, you won't believe who's come in!"

From the direction the Grizzly had come from, another figure emerged from behind a door. The door almost melted into the paneling — it didn't even creak — which is probably why I didn't notice it the first time the Grizzly used it.

"Hi!"

I recognized the kid who had fallen into my lap a few weeks ago. On closer inspection, at least he'd recovered from most of his injuries and had some color — seriously, he looked way better! I mean, it's not hard to look better than a half-dead man, but...

"I'm Alfonz," he held out his hand, "Sorry that I left without saying thanks, but my dad was really worried he couldn't find me and I didn't want him to turn the whole town upside down."

I didn't care much for his excuse, as I hadn't even noticed his departure, his absence must have been worrisome only for Alex at most — but I nodded anyway. I'll let him know the kid's alive, let him calm his nerves a bit.

At that point, the Grizzly took a huge, friendly swing at my back, and I was sure some of my ribs were cracked from the blow and my lungs were ruptured.

"Come on kid, I'll buy you a drink!"

With that, he led me over to one of the bar stools and took the one next to me. And his son hurried back to the door from where he came.

"How may I help?" asked the barman.

Only then did I realize that his eyes narrowed to slits, which is why they might at first appear to be closed.

"A hot chocolate, please," I nodded.

"Please don't make too big a show, Vid," added the barman, "you'll frighten my customers."

"Am I under your feet?" he smirked, and even the kindly, yet always a little tense-looking bartender had a smile on his lips for a moment.

I couldn't understand what was so overly humorous, and the Grizzly must have figured that out, because the next moment he pulled the dark material off his left leg. Instead of skin and flesh, I caught a glimpse of cold metal — his leg was missing from the middle of his foot.

The wound reminded me of Des's arm. Though I never asked him, it always bothered me why my brother didn't have a metal arm like that made for himself.

"So, what brings you to this particular business, kid?" the Grizzly interjected.

"I'm looking for someone," I replied, "his name is Zénó and he's the second-best informant in town."

The old bartender smiled slightly and put his right hand on his chest, bowing slightly.

"You?" my eyes widened.

"Personally," he said with an unchanging smile, then returned to making my hot chocolate, "What are you looking for, Shaytan?"

I wasn't surprised that he knew exactly who I was.

"I'm looking for someone who is in town," I announced, "His name is Dorián Vincze."

The old bartender placed the steaming hot chocolate in front of me, topped with whipped cream and a tiny scoop of vanilla ice cream melting.

"Unfortunately, I'm not aware of anyone by that name in town," he said, returning to his wiping.

This is really much, much, much harder than I thought.

After that I quickly ate my free sweets, thanked him, and left. Zénó and Grizzly encouraged me to pop in now and then if I felt like it, and I nodded and assured them that I would.