Holy shit! It's full of wine now! No way! — The servant shouted, and the entire party cheered, holding up their cups like they were toasting the Messiah himself.
Sure, sure… a miracle, right. I bet that kid was planted there. This whole thing smelled like a setup. Or maybe those jugs had some trick to 'em. I'd have to inspect them later, top to bottom. For now, I accepted the cup someone handed me and took a sip.
Damn. Tasted good. A proper vintage. "Magical," I guess.
I licked the last drops off my lips and headed toward Jesh. But he got there first.
And not just him — his mother too, Maryam, that weird woman with the hourglass pendant (how the hell did I miss that? Must've cost a fortune), and three of his disciples. Each of them worth more than just a pile of gold — more like a whole damn treasure hoard I couldn't carry even if I teamed up with Avdey, Raban, and that cocky charcoal-scribbler from earlier.
They were all so... distinct. So strange. So... irrelevant. I didn't come for them. I came for one man.
And now he stood in front of me again, eyes as empty as the last time we met. But this time, I was ready. I avoided eye contact, speaking directly to his chin:
Shalom aleichem, Jesh. You've got me running all over Judea, you know that? Looks like you've fully traded in your hammer for a wizard hat. Mori, — growled a beefcake with a massive sword strapped to his back, — you better address the Master with respect, got that? Well damn, this welcome party's starting to feel real warm and fuzzy. I better watch my back before I end up part of today's special.
The young guy my old drinking buddy Bacchus introduced as Bartholomew let out a loud laugh and smacked his sides:
Did he just imply you're pigging out again, Simon? I swear, I've been telling you—drop the fork, pick up a sword. Just once. For old times' sake. Enough! — snorted the Bull, killing the mood — go clown around with the crowd, jester!
Don't have to tell me — the guy stuck out his tongue, and immediately hollered:
Hey good folks, gather round! Time for a little juggling magic!
He whipped out a handful of cloth balls from under his robe and started tossing them into the air as he strutted toward the crowd, which was already whistling and hyped for the show.
Somehow we ended up back in the chaos of the square again, where the carnival was still raging. To tune out the endless shouting, a guy with a foreign-looking face leaned in close and whispered into my ear:
Parti loves to show Can't help it. Should've been born a stage actor. Name's Philip, by the way.
Yeah, no The guy's clearly drunk on the spotlight, — I said.
This Philip had one of those oddly pleasant faces—nothing dramatic, just subtle lines, thin lips, eyebrows like pencil marks. And for the first time, I kinda felt like telling someone my own name. Even though these people kept digging for it like it mattered somehow. (Which it absolutely didn't—what the hell?)
But before I could say a word, one of Jesh's disciples beat me to it:
We already know—you're Mori told us through his Voice.
How the hell does he know my name? — I muttered, actually surprised, and didn't even notice that Jesh had vanished—along with his entire It was just me, Philip, and Bartholomew now, still juggling whatever the crowd tossed him. Gotta admit—he was damn good at it.
Our Master knows a That's just how he is. Everything about him is kinda perfect, except… I cut him off before he could start gossiping: Yeah, yeah, I get You guys aren't too fond of that woman with the face like someone stole her favorite toy when she was six and just gave it back—smashed to pieces. Nailed it. — Philip smirked slightly. — That's Mori's sister, Mar-Rukh. She's his Voice. You probably noticed our Master doesn't That's because he was born without speech. So she speaks his thoughts. Wait, what? How the hell does she know what he's thinking? He flashes gang signs at her or what? Don't even tell me she reads minds—I've had it up to here with this spooky nonsense! — I waved my arms like I was fending off a swarm of flies.
The disciple shook his head:
You're a skeptic, huh? Got trust issues?
Damn — We exchanged one of those knowing looks, and despite my default sarcasm, I had to admit—this oddball seemed kinda alright. I get I used to be like you. Before I met Mori.
And then what? He opened your mind with miracle powers and now you're on your way to "enlightenment"? Don't mock it, Seriously. Just talk to him. Maybe you'll get something out of it. — Philip leaned in close like we were sharing a state secret, and I instantly backed off.
That kind of talk? Big nope. Smells like cult speak. And that stench's worse than the sweaty funk of the festival.
Which means—it's time to ditch this guy too. I didn't come here for him anyway. I came for one man.
Speaking of, please, where is your Mori?
Right Behind you.
So, the ex-carpenter actually pulled off that magic trick I'd been mocking earlier. Really did appear outta nowhere, like some biblical ninja. This time, it was just him and his sister. Mama must've gone off to nap—or stuff her face somewhere else. Simon was gone too, not that I gave half a damn about his whereabouts.
What I was interested in though, was this:
No small talk, no lead-in. Just tell me—how the hell did you almost burn me last time?
And there it was again—that damn stare. That serene, glowing, messenger-of-mystic-forces look. I was already tired of it, and figured he wouldn't answer again, but then he touched his sister—right around her shoulder blade—with the side of his hand, and she immediately started speaking, in that same pompous oracle voice:
Hear this, Thomas, and If you wish to have your questions answered—any of them— you may, if you choose, find two people for Mori. Each is important to him. He would meet them. Bring them. Here are their names, their faces, and where you might find them… Wow, you two make quite the team, — I replied, after hearing a surprisingly clear rundown of some random idiots. — Ever think of taking this act on tour? Straight to Jerusalem?
I was rambling, babbling nonsense on purpose. My brain wanted nothing to do with this info. It refused to absorb or Process it. And the Voice—Jesh's sister—had this oddly calming effect. Almost hypnotic. Like white noise with a fancy vocabulary.
It hit me just then how freakin' exhausted I was. This whole road trip, this entire weird-ass day—it had all worn me down. I figured it was time to crash at the artist's place.
Tomorrow, I'd be rested. Tomorrow, maybe I'd actually get to work for my new "boss." And track down those two randos… or whatever.
With a lazy wave to the world, I headed out, pushing through the same squealing, sweaty crowd. I needed sleep. And maybe I'd find out if I suck at finding people as much as I suck at everything else.