THIRST 4.9

Fleas had been absent from dinner. He had spent most of the time locked in the hut. Curious about his absence, Knight Dannke went over to see if his stomach still hurt, or rather his emotions did. Fleas was sitting cross-legged, moving his charcoal from one side of the canvas to the other. His fur was stiff, like a porcupine's. It must have been the sea salt.

"What are you doing?"

"Drawing. The artist said I should bring him lots of drawings and he would teach me to paint."

He sounded cheerful despite what had happened.

"What are you drawing?"

"The lady in the water. I can't transfer the image from my head to the canvas, though..."

"I don't know about art, but I know about fighting. And I can say that with practice, even the weakest of men can become a fierce warrior. I imagine it must be the same with drawing."

There was a pause. The little one, as he made gentle strokes with the charcoal, moved his head from side to side and muttered something that sounded like a chant, barely audible.

"Speaking of which, Fleas, don't you want to practice today?"

"No, I'm fine."

Dannke left him alone. He wondered why, after the humiliation he'd suffered at the hands of the sailors, he wasn't frustrated or angry at such moments.

Soon they reached land. The little boy tucked the sketch into his bag and jumped onto the dock in high spirits. The captain looked at him from the deck and shook his head. Dannke sighed, frowned, grabbed him by the neck with both hands and said without raising his voice:

"I should kill you right now. If I see you again in any city, village or even at sea, I will do so. Nobody messes with mine."

The captain smiled, grabbed his wrists and dragged him away.

"I heard you were once a mighty knight. But the strength has left your arms. If you want to kill me, use a crossbow, for you have no chance in a fair fight," he turned and addressed the sailors. "Come, you scum, let's drink some good ale. I'm dying of thirst."