Locke and El (Part Two)

The second time Lorist saw El, El appeared to be... streaking? If running stark naked, covered in plaster dust and gasping for breath didn't count as streaking, Lorist didn't know what did.

A month and a half had passed since that damsel-in-distress incident, and Lorist had finally recovered from the pain of losing his money. Fatty Shi had been nagging him less lately, too, giving him some peace. His luck had returned as well: a nobleman had hired him to give his child a month of basic swordsmanship training for three Gold Fude. Instructor Krudd at the academy had arranged the job. The nobleman had approached Krudd first, but Krudd said he couldn't spare the time and recommended Lorist instead.

That evening, after giving the nobleman's child two hours of swordsmanship training, Lorist felt the cool autumn breeze and decided on a whim to walk back to the academy. He could pick up a late-night snack along the way.

Just around the next corner, if he remembered right, was a little shop that sold braised beef. Fatty Shi had taken him there once or twice, and it was pretty good. I'll buy some beef and take back a keg of mead to shut Fatty Shi up. As he planned his shopping, someone came charging around the corner, white from head to toe. A second look revealed that the man was naked.

Hell, a lunatic. Lorist quickly stepped aside to avoid the madman hurtling toward him.

But as the man ran past, he glanced at Lorist and stopped. He spun around, grabbed Lorist by the shoulder, and cried happily, "Hey, it's you, brother! Perfect. Do me a favor and lend me that cloak of yours."

The voice sounded familiar. Lorist had been about to pull away, but he took a closer look. Wasn't that El? Plaster dust covered him, and he was panting so hard he could barely breathe. Sweat and grime had formed abstract patterns all over his body.

"What happened to you?" Lorist asked in astonishment. He'd never heard of a gang boss who was into street performance art.

"Don't ask. I lost a bet. Lend me your cloak so I can cover up. Hurry," El urged.

Fine. Lorist had brought the cloak in case it rained at night, but the moon was bright and the sky was clear. He could lend it to El.

Lorist took off his cloak and draped it over El. El turned and took off running again, kindly calling back, "You'd better run too, or it'll be too late."

Why would I run? I'm not the lunatic... Lorist turned around and froze.

Since when had such a huge, dark mass of people come around the corner? They were carrying brooms, bamboo poles, stove pokers, and water ladles. What were they planning to do? Surely they weren't about to clean the streets at this hour?

Before Lorist could make sense of it, he heard shouts from the crowd. "They're together..." "He gave that pervert his cloak..." "Beat him..." "Don't let him get away..." "Grab him..."

The crowd surrounded Lorist so tightly he couldn't move, and brooms, bamboo poles, and ladles rained down on his head. Shielding his head with his arms, he shouted, "Stop! What are you doing? What's going on?"

In the chaos, he caught only scattered cries: "Beat him to death..." "...bathhouse... peeping..." "...accomplice..."

Lorist wanted to fight back, but not one of the people hitting him had Battle Qi. They were all ordinary people. He couldn't bring himself to strike them; if he misjudged his strength, someone might die. With no other choice, he summoned his Battle Qi to protect himself and endured the beating.

An old woman carrying a water ladle finally squeezed to the front. She looked Lorist over and said, "Drop your Battle Qi."

"What?" Lorist didn't understand.

"I said drop the Battle Qi you're using to protect yourself!" the old woman said loudly.

"What do you want?"

"How am I supposed to teach you a lesson if you don't? These old arms and legs get tired after just a few swings. Hitting you while you've got Battle Qi up would be no better than tickling you!" She sounded like she was scolding her grandson.

By then, the people nearby had worn themselves out and stopped hitting him. Those farther back only knew someone was being beaten; they didn't even know who. Some were so tightly packed they could barely tell which way they were facing, waving their weapons and shouting, "Where's that little thief?" "You caught him, right?" "Bring him out!"

Seeing that the people around him had settled down, Lorist breathed a sigh of relief. He dropped his Battle Qi and said to the old woman, "All right, but what's this about—"

Before he could finish, the bottom of a water ladle swelled in his vision. Clang! It struck him squarely in the eye socket, sending stars spinning before his eyes. Ow, that hurt! The old woman was scolding him: "That'll teach you to misbehave!"

Thump! Another blow. "That'll teach you to sneak into the women's bathhouse and peep!"

Bong! "That'll teach you to pretend to be a plaster statue!"

Lorist had wanted to raise his Battle Qi again after the first blow, but hearing her accuse him of sneaking into the women's bathhouse and posing as a plaster statue took the fight out of him. Now he finally understood why El was covered in plaster dust and running naked. Damn you, El. Just you wait...

"I'm innocent! It wasn't me—ugh!" Lorist's cry sounded downright pitiful.

After taking a thorough beating from the old woman's ladle, Lorist seized a chance to drop to the ground and crawl between the crowd's legs. He took plenty of kicks on the way out. By the time he escaped, his clothes were filthy and torn full of holes, barely covering him.

He found a corner and had just sat down to catch his breath when a copper coin landed on the ground in front of him with a clink. A passerby had mistaken him for a beggar. Lorist did look miserable enough to stir anyone's pity, and the man had tossed him a coin.

Lorist snatched up the coin and gritted his teeth. "El. El, just you wait..."

But where could he find El? Fatty Shi had said the man never stayed in one place and appeared and disappeared like a ghost. Though he was the gang boss of three districts, his underlings handled the actual work. His uncle, however, owned the Red Raven Tavern, and El feared that uncle more than anyone.

That was it. He'd go to El's uncle, Garilando. The old man was decent. If he learned El had sneaked into the women's bathhouse disguised as a plaster statue to watch women bathe, he would surely give El a night to remember.

Lorist hailed a hired carriage, though convincing the driver he wasn't a beggar took some effort. In the end, the driver agreed to take him to the Red Raven Tavern only after Lorist paid in advance. When Lorist got out, the driver even said politely, "Sir, while your outfit certainly has character, I'd advise you to change before going in. Otherwise, I can't promise they won't throw you out. Good luck, sir."

Fortunately, Lorist wasn't thrown out. Garilando remembered the young man who had beaten his nephew until he lay on the ground playing the rogue. What baffled the old man was who could have left such a capable young man in this state. Lorist didn't seem injured—there were no bloody wounds—but his face was bruised and swollen, and he plainly looked as if he'd been beaten badly.

"How did you end up like this?" Garilando asked.

"Uncle, have you seen El? This is all his fault!"

Lorist explained that he had seen El running naked down the street and, out of kindness, lent him his cloak to cover up. Instead, people had mistaken him for El's accomplice and beaten him for nothing. Only then had he learned that El had caused an uproar by posing as a plaster statue in the women's bathhouse to watch women bathe, and had been chased through the streets naked. If Lorist had known, he would have pretended not to recognize El and left him to his fate.

The drinkers and serving girls nearby doubled over laughing. Several chimed in, "That's no surprise. El loves peeping on people. Ask around—which of the tavern's serving girls or guests hasn't caught him peeping while they were bathing or with a lover?"

Garilando's face darkened. He told a serving girl named Louise to bring Lorist a cup of Blackberry Mead to settle his nerves, then went out to find El.

Before long, the old man returned dragging El by the ear. El was wearing pajamas with several footprints on them. Clearly, the old man had kicked him out of bed.

Garilando smacked El every few steps, muttering, "Sneaking into the women's bathhouse, posing as a plaster statue... Could you stop doing things that disgrace us? Is peeping on old women bathing every day really that much fun?"

El yelped in pain and protested, "I wasn't peeping! I was practicing stealth. Who'd want to watch old women bathe?"

The old man shoved El in front of Lorist. "Well? What happened?"

El looked up, saw Lorist, and jumped. "Huh? What happened to you, brother? You looked fine on the street just now!"

Lorist wanted to smash his cup into El's face. "What do you think? Why were so many people chasing you? And you have the nerve to ask me?"

El understood. "So they caught you? Didn't I tell you to run? See what happens when you don't listen to me?"

"I... damn it! I didn't sneak into the women's bathhouse to peep. Why would I run?" Lorist snapped.

"Don't be angry, brother. I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you. Drinks are on me tonight—have as much as you like." El generously patted Lorist on the shoulder.

Damn it, did I come looking for you over a few drinks? Lorist suddenly felt deflated. He should have known from their last encounter how shameless and lazy this man was. Maybe he shouldn't have come to settle the score at all.

El had already taken it upon himself to order a cup of mead for every drinker in the tavern, on him. The patrons cheered, while he paid no attention to Garilando's dark expression.

The old man rapped him hard on the head. "On you? When have you ever paid for one of your rounds? Tell me exactly why you went to the women's bathhouse tonight. If you don't, I'll break your legs so you can stop going out and embarrassing yourself every day."

Clutching his head, El finally settled down. The story wasn't complicated. He really had gone to the women's bathhouse because of a bet; he hadn't lied about that.

El had a dream: he wanted to revive the rogue profession from the age of Magic Civilization. According to legend, rogues back then weren't petty thieves like today's. Every one of them could come and go unseen, pick locks, move stealthily, hide their tracks, assassinate targets, scout, track, and set traps. There had even been a mysterious rogues' guild. El was fascinated.

As it happened, his family's Battle Qi was of the rare Dark Attribute. El therefore believed his ancestors must have been those legendary rogues. He worked hard at practicing the talents attributed to them, though he'd made up all the techniques himself—including the "stealth" he kept going on about.

A couple of days earlier, El had been drinking with friends and boasting again about how impressive his rogue skills were. One friend said that if those skills were so great, they wouldn't have been lost. In some adventure story set in the age of Magic Civilization, a rogue had sneaked into an enemy princess's bath chamber and overheard her plotting with her lover to frame the hero. His friend said, "I'm not asking you to sneak into a princess's bath chamber. See that public bathhouse down the street? Get into the women's bath and stay hidden until closing time, and I'll admit your rogue skills are impressive."

El accepted. But he found that getting in was easy; finding somewhere to hide was not. The women's bath was one big room with three large pools and four small ones. Otherwise it was empty, with nowhere to escape notice. The two corridors were straight, too, and burly matrons patrolled them now and then.

Finally, El noticed an abandoned plaster statue in a corner. It depicted a life-sized man standing in thought. Perhaps the bathhouse owner had decided it was inappropriate for the middle of the women's bath and moved it into the corner.

Late one night, El sneaked into the women's bath, smashed the statue, and carried away the pieces. Then, before the bath opened the following evening, he went back in, coated himself in plaster dust, and stood in the statue's place.

El was confident no one would notice. For one thing, the statue stood in a corner facing the wall. As long as he held the right pose, most people would glance at him and move on. For another, the lighting in the women's bath was dim, and the steam made everything hazy. Even if he moved a little, no one would pay attention.

And that was how it went—until something unexpected happened. Two young women walked toward El, laughing, then stopped beside him. They had come to this out-of-the-way spot to share a private conversation.

A voluptuous woman was telling her friend about the passionate, romantic night she had spent with her lover. Her friend had no experience with men and listened with a mixture of envy and fear. Growing animated, the voluptuous woman suddenly yanked away the rag tied around the statue's waist.

The original statue had been naked. Though it had been moved to a corner, some female customers had objected, so the bathhouse owner had wrapped a rag around its waist for modesty.

Naturally, El had tied that rag around his own waist. Now the voluptuous woman had pulled it away, leaving him exposed. Pointing at his manhood, she told her friend, "Look. This is what most men have down there. Don't let its size fool you. Play with it a little and it'll grow thick and long. If you use your mouth, it gets hard fastest."

She stroked him a few times and exclaimed, "Yes, that's exactly how it feels! Come on, try it. It'll grow longer and harder in no time."

Her friend's mouth fell open in horror as she watched the entire "statue" tremble. The voluptuous woman noticed nothing and kept her head down, working away. "See? Just like that. It's getting longer and harder. Stroke it a few more times and it'll spit at you, too. Like this..."

She stroked him vigorously several more times, making little smacking sounds with her mouth. Then the manhood in her hand obliged.

"That was too fast. And he's not as big as the man I was with last night. What a disappointment," the voluptuous woman remarked.

El couldn't keep up the act any longer. Her last remark had dealt him the worst blow. What a disappointment. What a disappointment...

He shoved the two women aside, jumped down from the statue's base, and ran for the bathhouse exit. All he wanted was to find somewhere to cry. What a disappointment. What a disappointment... The words echoed through his mind.

"The statue's alive!" "Oh heavens, Goddess above, what's happening?"

"No, someone's pretending to be a statue! It's a man!" Someone had caught on.

"A naked man! Grab that peeping pervert!"

The women's bath erupted into chaos. The voluptuous woman finally realized what had happened. Humiliated and furious, she let out a piercing scream: "Grab him! How dare he take advantage of me! Beat him to death!"

Three broad-shouldered matrons guarding the bathhouse entrance stared in shock as a naked man burst out of the women's bath. Only when they made out the screams behind him did they understand. "Stop right there, you shameless wretch! How dare you sneak into the women's bath to peep!"

Then the whole street joined the uproar.

El didn't come to his senses until he was out of the bathhouse. By then, a streetful of people were chasing him. He had no chance to find anything to cover himself, so he kept running. Then he rounded the corner and saw Lorist.

That was Lorist and El's second meeting, and both men came away wounded. Lorist's wounds were physical; El's were to his pride. It would be a very, very long time before he got over them.