[129] Island: Galliant (6)
"You lost five gold. Taking back what you already gave is the worst thing in the world. That woman's going to have to pay you compensation."
Falcoa lifted Jis by the chin. Jis's head tilted back until his spine threatened to snap; he could barely breathe. If it bent a little further, his vertebrae might shear.
"Does it hurt? It will. I'm really strong, you know."
"P-please… let me live…"
"Want me to stop the pain? Chew this. Then you won't feel a thing."
Even gasping for air, Jis turned his eyes. In Falcoa's hand was a piece of tree root.
Born and raised on the island, he recognized it. It was the natives' stimulant—Ruf. A drug used in spirit-possession rituals, its addictiveness far surpassed ordinary narcotics. Wasn't there a rumor that even the Kergo had been destroyed by overuse of Ruf?
"Please, I beg you. Not that…"
Jis pleaded desperately. Once someone got hooked on Ruf, their life was basically over.
They'd rot in gutters, and his only family—his sister—would inevitably be driven into the streets.
As if he'd expected that reply, Falcoa shoved the Ruf he'd given Jis into his own mouth.
What's so bad about being addictive? If you can't live without it, you just use it for life.
"You're the biggest coward I've seen. This stuff's a divine awakening drug. So—what are you gonna do now? Want me to bring her?"
"Huh? Bring who?"
"That red-haired brat. She looked pretty. I could probably sell her for good money, heh. Of course I'd have to put her down as secondhand."
Jis was appalled. Kidnapping a noble—of all things. But given Falcoa's state on Ruf, it wasn't unimaginable.
He's mad. Not in his right mind.
Falcoa was the chief enforcer of the Freeman gang. For Jis, a mere Habbari, he was the highest-ranking figure he could reasonably encounter.
Jis had never met the gang's leader in person, but one of the organization's rules forbade human trafficking.
"H-hey, if you do something like that they'll kick you out of the organization. It's in the code—" A studded boot caught Jis's jaw and cut him off. His head swam and his thoughts went blank.
Falcoa grabbed Jis's hair and lifted him. The chill in his voice snapped Jis's focus back.
"Or what? Want me to bring your sister to you?"
"T-that would be…!"
Jis's body trembled. Anger and fear mixed into a feeling he couldn't name.
His sister was more precious than anything. He would never expose her to this filthy world.
"Oh, did I not mention? I actually like your sister. How about you introduce her to me this time?"
Rotten breath escaped Falcoa's mouth as he chewed Ruf.
* * *
After thirty minutes of running through alleys, Shirone and the woman finally shook off Gamos's guards.
They were fast—well trained—but using blind alleys as a psychological trick had worked to throw them off.
They leaned against a wall and tried to catch their breath. They'd run until they tasted blood and their legs trembled.
The woman laughed as she watched the panting Shirone.
"Heh, you've got surprising stamina. I thought someone that pretty would give up on the run."
"You'd get caught if you gave up. I'm exhausted. But—are you okay?"
"I'm Marsha. I'm used to running—this is nothing. Let's get inside and rest. I'm thirsty—need a beer. I'll buy you one as a thank-you."
Shirone was puzzled. Marsha showed no sign of panic despite being chased.
And offering to buy a beer meant she had money—so why had she stolen?
"Oh, I should probably go."
"You can't wander around now. Wait at a place I know. Gamos is brutal but dumb; he forgets fast. Hold out for an hour and he'll be distracted with his own fun and stop the chase. Mostly though, it's because I'm scary. Could you just stay by my side for a bit?"
Marsha stuck out her tongue and winked. Shirone wasn't bewitched by her cute looks, but he agreed. If Gamos caught them, things would spiral out of control.
"All right. But my friends are waiting, so I can't stay long."
"Fine. We'll only wait until Gamos's men give up. This way."
Marsha led Shirone through twists and turns to a dingy tavern. It was busier than it looked—surprisingly packed.
"Huh, this place hasn't changed in years."
"You used to come here a lot?"
"Yeah, back in the day. It's been three years since I came to Galliant Island. I've got a friend who lives here."
"I guessed you were a local. You know the streets too well."
"Heh, once I see a route I never forget it. Running is part of my life."
When Marsha and Shirone sat at the bar, rough-looking men turned to stare. A pretty woman paired with a young boy looked out of place.
"People are staring."
"Don't mind them. This bar's where the island's troublemakers hang out. If something happens, news shows up here first—so we can tell when Gamos gives up."
"Isn't that dangerous? His men might storm in here."
"Gamos rules the island, but he's not a loose cannon. This place… it's like a resistance. A community of shared fate, you could say."
Shirone didn't take her at face value. With so many people coming and going, perfect control of information seemed impossible.
'A system alone can't do that. If it's possible, there must be agreements or rules. But why would they do it? What do they get out of it?'
Seeing Shirone's skeptical look, Marsha gave an embarrassed grin.
"Oh, you're hopeless. Right—the bar colludes with the Galliant local government. Whatever happens here, the officials turn a blind eye."
"So that's it. But why would the government do that?"
"Money. Laundering, slush funds, lobbying money—this is what they call the Island Gate. A system born from the island's closed nature. They made an arrangement: in return for flowing funds through the shadows, they guarantee criminals' safety. Mutual benefit. Isn't that just how the world works? Heehee."
Marsha chewed a toothpick. Her seagull-curved smile had an oddly sad cast to it.
"If you think about it, it's ridiculous. People talk about punishing criminals, but who ends up fattening their pockets? The criminals themselves. Take a huge sum and break it into pieces so it can be swallowed. They're like microbes in society—without them, the organism dies."
Shirone had no reply. This inversion of human nature and social systems was too complex for an eighteen-year-old to judge.
"We're getting serious. You said your name's Shirone, right? What brings you to the island?"
"I came with friends for a trip. To swim and see ruins."
"The Kergo ruins? I've been there. Ah, I was young then—now I'm twenty-seven. I might die an old maid at this rate. How old are you?"
"Eighteen."
"Oh my, you're older than I thought. You look so young."
"You look young for your age too. Can I call you noona?"
"Sure. Everything starts with 'noona.' Later, if you become my lover, you can call me whatever you want, hohoho!"
Shirone forced a smile at the absurdity. A twenty-seven-year-old woman was an unapproachable adult to an eighteen-year-old boy.
But aside from that, Marsha was much more intelligent and reasonable than he'd expected.
The conversation was pleasant, and Shirone finally told her about what happened at the harbor.
Marsha nodded as if she'd predicted it.
"Oh, you ran into street hawkers. Nasty lot. But five gold—that's pushing it."
"Yes. I ended up clashing with my friend and it soured things. They're probably still waiting. I'll get in trouble when I go back."
Marsha checked the time and glanced at the bartender.
"What's up with Gamos?"
The bartender pretended not to hear while polishing a glass. Marsha slid a silver coin across the bar.
As if remembering something, the bartender finally spoke.
"Ten minutes ago we got word. They spread out along the main roads—maybe forty people blocking the routes."
"Ugh, still? That guy's persistent."
"Usually Gamos cools off quick. Looks like today he really lost his temper."
Marsha grinned at Shirone. He had no answer—after all, he'd been the one who'd knocked Gamos out earlier.
Marsha returned to the original topic.
"Anyway, with street hawkers it's best to handle them lightly and avoid trouble. They're organized. Once you get tangled, the aftermath is hard to deal with."
"I didn't even think that far."
"Heh, did you need to? You came to have fun, right? But danger always hides in tourists' pleasures. The island's small and closed. To split limited goods, competition's fiercer than inland."
Shirone filed that away. He planned to stay on the island for ten days, so he'd likely meet many hawkers.
He was lucky to hear Marsha's advice; if he'd been ignorant and reacted the way he had earlier, things could have gone very badly.
Shirone looked at Marsha and realized something. From their conversation she seemed genuinely good—kind, witty, and cautious about judging others too quickly.
Why would someone like her steal? She'd even tipped the bartender, so she didn't appear short on money.
"Um, can I ask something? I'm really curious."
Leaning back, Marsha stared at the ceiling.
"Phew, I was nervous about when you'd ask. But Shirone, a woman's three sizes aren't something you hear—you imagine them in your head."
"No! That's not it! Why did you steal the pottery?"
"Huh?"
"You don't seem like a petty thief. And you weren't short on money. It wasn't even useful. Why steal pottery…?"
"Hmm."
Marsha propped her chin on her hand and thought.
"I don't know. Maybe I just wanted to."
"What? Is that possible?"
"Of course it is. Kleptomania. Not that I was always like that. I was an orphan. My parents abandoned me when I was four. A mercenary found me and raised me—he became my foster father."
Shirone's chest tightened at the unexpected confession. Marsha, like him, had been abandoned by her parents.
"But life wasn't comfortable. Mercenary bands are full of strange men. When I was eleven, a man in the group known for being brutal tried to lay a hand on me. Luckily my foster dad caught him and beat him up."
"Of course. If anyone tried that with his daughter, anyone would react that way."
"Heh, would they, though?"
Marsha's gaze dropped to the bar with a sad look. Her eyes seemed suddenly wet.
"Every day I got one piece of bread and a cup of water. That was all my foster dad gave. No clothes, no sweets, no toys. He basically raised me as livestock. I started stealing from then on. One day I stole an apple and got caught; I paid him back willingly. But the moment we got home he changed and beat me. He didn't say a word until I passed out."
"That's awful. If he could afford to have you pay him back, why didn't he just buy it for you? And why didn't you ask him?"
"That's what he wanted. Submission. The only resistance I could manage was stealing day after day. Of course, when I was caught I was beaten mercilessly. It was a horrible routine. Then one day I just gave up entirely. I told my foster dad this."
Marsha rested her chin on her hand as if recalling that time.
"You can kill me if you want."