The stench of fried fish, garlic and sour wine nearly knocked him off his feet. The heat was hellish, candles stuck in bottles burned on the tables, lamps smoked on the walls. The tavern was packed to the rafters, but he easily spotted Asterius, who dominated over the crowd like a watchtower. The tauran was making his way through the hall, deftly balancing three plates in one hand. At the sound of the doorbell, he quickly glanced at the Scarlet and smiled. His teeth were white and strong, like a predator's and his smile was of such a kind that the knight was seized with a burning desire to see those teeth scattered across the floor.

Asterius nodded towards a far corner of the hall and, obeying his signal, the Scarlet made his way to a large, well-built barrel that seemed to serve as a table. He had barely sat down when two boys, the ones he had seen in the morning, rushed towards him like young sharks, piling the barrel with an assortment of food.

There were Arlesian sausages, octopuses baked with vegetables, sheep cheese that stank like misfortune and local wine, yellow as topaz, tender as a kiss and knocking out as a good right hook.

The Scarlet raised his mug, greeting the tauran. He did not mind having a bite. After all, plums were just plums.

Furthermore, this delay allowed him to see with his own eyes the reason why the one they called the Wrath of God, the Scourge of the Infidels, the Sword of the Righteous, shamelessly indulged in such a lowly occupation.

He thought he knew — and was wrong. Women flocked to Asterius, engaging him in playful conversation and he responded willingly, with the same unbearable smile, both inviting and challenging, with which he had greeted the Scarlet. But he did not single out any of them.

However, who, but a woman, could have done this to him? Break his warrior spirit? Make him betray his duty? What other ties could bind him to this wretched town?

He watched Asterius with growing irritation. A knight famed and glorious - just think! - serving snacks to all sorts of riffraff. But more than anything, it was his own involuntary admiration that irked him. Asterius moved with effortless grace, like a tiger and leisurely, like a bull. The terseness and precision of each gesture captivated the eye. He was a born warrior, and the Scarlet was itching to jump up, slam his fist on the table and roar ‘You don't belong here!’

The bell rang. A slender Asian man slipped into the tavern, predatory as a ferret and inconspicuous as a shadow. But unnoticed he was not — if only because on his shoulder sat a garuda chick. Small, scrawny, but still worth a fortune. No — more than that. Priceless.

Asterius' face lit up with childlike delight, he hailed the newcomer and rushed behind the counter. He began to chat amiably with the Bird. It responded with a high, pure, mesmerisingly inhuman voice. Watching the large beast converse with the little one, the poor knight upped his mug of la Malgue wine and thought in bewilderment ‘what kind of town is this?’

His eyes were heavy. He was a weathered drinker, but the hearty dinner finished him off. And this incessant lulling hum – the Scarlet barely had time to rest his head on the crook of his arm before he fell into the carefree sleep of a well-run child.

Gloria Mu, The Game of Jart, 2022

Translated by YB

Artwork by Aleks Klepnev

Published with authors permission