The outsider

"I was a failure. I barely paid attention to whether the sun was shining, because I had no time.

"My parents couldn't support me, and I didn't have much of an education. I was alone in the city, searching for a future.

"I applied for many jobs, but no one hired me. Perhaps no one liked someone who wasn't good with words, didn't enjoy talking to others, and hadn't shown enough ability.

"For three whole days, I ate only two loaves of bread. Hunger kept me awake at night. Luckily, I'd paid a month's rent in advance, so I could stay in that dark basement instead of enduring the bitter winter wind outside.

"At last, I found a job as a night watchman at a hospital, guarding the morgue.

"The hospital at night was even colder than I'd imagined. The wall lamps in the corridors weren't lit, and everything was dim. I could only see where I was stepping by the little light spilling out of the rooms.

"The smell was awful. Every so often, a dead person would arrive in a body bag, and we would help carry them into the morgue.

"It wasn't a good job, but at least it let me afford bread. I could also use my free time at night to study. After all, hardly anyone wanted to visit the morgue unless a body needed to be delivered or taken away for cremation. Of course, I still didn't have enough money to buy books, and for now, I saw no hope of saving any.

"I had my former colleague to thank. If he hadn't suddenly quit, I might not have managed to get even a job like this.

"I dreamed of taking a turn on the day shift. Sleeping at sunrise and getting up after nightfall was making my body a little weak, and my head sometimes throbbed.

"One day, the porters brought in a new body.

"I heard from the others that it was my former colleague, the one who had suddenly quit.

"I was a little curious about him. After everyone left, I pulled out the drawer and quietly opened the body bag.

"He was an old man, his face pale and bluish, covered in wrinkles. In the very dim light, he looked frightening.

"He didn't have much hair, and most of it was white. All his clothes had been stripped away. They hadn't left him so much as a scrap of fabric.

"With a dead man who had no family, the porters certainly wouldn't pass up a chance to make some extra money.

"I saw a strange mark on his chest. It was bluish-black, but I couldn't describe its exact shape. The light was far too dim.

"I reached out and touched the mark. There was nothing unusual about it.

"Looking at my former colleague, I wondered whether I would end up like him when I grew old if I kept living this way...

"I told him I would accompany him to the crematorium the next day and personally take his ashes to the nearest free cemetery, so the people responsible wouldn't decide it was too much trouble and dump them in some river or patch of wasteland.

"That would cost me a morning's sleep, but it was all right. Sunday was coming, and I could make up for it then.

"After saying that, I closed the body bag and pushed it back into the drawer.

"The light in the room seemed to grow dimmer...

"After that day, whenever I slept, I would dream of a thick fog.

"I had a feeling something would happen soon. I sensed that sooner or later, things I wasn't sure could be called human would come looking for me. But no one believed me. They thought that working in that sort of place had affected my mind, and that I needed to see a doctor..."

A male patron sitting at the bar turned to the storyteller, who had abruptly stopped.

"What happened next?"

The patron was in his thirties, wearing a brown tweed jacket and pale yellow trousers. His hair was pressed flat, and a plain, dark bowler hat lay beside his hand.

He looked ordinary, much like most people in the tavern, with black hair and light blue eyes. Neither handsome nor ugly, he had no distinguishing features.

The storyteller before him, however, was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, tall and straight-backed, with long limbs. He too had short black hair and light blue eyes, but his sharply defined features caught the eye.

The young man looked at the empty glass in front of him and sighed. "What happened next?

"Then I quit, went back to the countryside, and came here to spin you a yarn."

As he spoke, a smile spread across his face, tinged with mischief.

The patron froze for a moment.

"You made all that up?"

"Ha ha!" Laughter erupted around the bar.

As the laughter began to subside, a thin, middle-aged man looked at the slightly embarrassed patron. "Outsider, you actually believed Lumian's story? He tells a different one every day. Yesterday, he was some poor wretch whose fiancée broke off their engagement because he had no money. Today, he's a morgue watchman!"

"That's right. Something about thirty years on the east bank of the Serenzo River, then thirty years on its right bank. Nothing but nonsense!" another regular chimed in.

They were all farmers from the large village of Cordu, wearing short jackets in black, gray, or brown.

The dark-haired young man called Lumian braced both hands on the bar and slowly stood up. Smiling, he said, "You know I didn't make these stories up. My sister wrote them all. She loves writing stories. She's even a columnist for something called Fiction Weekly."

Then he turned sideways and spread his hands toward the visiting patron, smiling brightly. "Looks like her writing really is good.

"Sorry for misleading you."

The ordinary-looking man in the brown tweed jacket wasn't angry. He stood up as well and replied with a smile, "It was an interesting story.

"What should I call you?"

"Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself before asking someone else's name?" Lumian asked with a smile.

The visitor nodded.

"My name is Ryan Koss.

"These two are my companions, Valentine and Lya."

The latter introduction referred to the man and woman sitting beside him.

The man was twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with a little powder dusted over his blond hair. His rather small eyes were a shade darker than lake blue. He wore a white waistcoat, a blue fine-wool coat, and black trousers, and had clearly taken care over his appearance before coming out.

His expression was cold, and he hardly glanced at the farmers and herders around him.

The woman looked younger than the two men. Her long, light gray hair was arranged in an elaborate bun, with a white veil draped over it in place of a hat.

Her eyes were the same color as her hair. She looked at Lumian with undisguised amusement, seemingly finding what had just happened merely entertaining.

Under the tavern's gas wall lamps, the woman named Lya displayed a pert nose and beautifully curved lips. In a rural village like Cordu, she certainly qualified as a beauty.

She wore a fitted white cashmere dress without pleats, paired with a cream-colored jacket and a pair of Marciel boots. Two small silver bells were attached to her veil and two more to her boots. When she had entered the tavern, they had jingled with every step, drawing attention and leaving quite a few men staring.

To them, this was the sort of fashionable outfit found only in large cities such as Bigos, the provincial capital, or Trier, the national capital.

Lumian nodded to the three outsiders.

"My name is Lumian Lee. You can just call me Lumian."

"Lee?" Lya blurted out.

"What's wrong? Is there a problem with my surname?" Lumian asked curiously.

Ryan Koss explained on Lya's behalf, "Your surname frightens people. I almost couldn't keep my voice steady just now."

Seeing the bewilderment on the faces of the surrounding farmers and herders, he elaborated, "Anyone who's dealt with sailors or maritime merchants knows there's a saying on the Five Seas:

"Better to encounter those pirate admirals, or even kings, than a man named Frank Lee.

"His surname is Lee too."

"Is he that frightening?" Lumian asked.

Ryan shook his head.

"I don't know, but if such a story exists, he must be quite something."

He dropped the subject and said to Lumian, "Thank you for your story. It's worth a drink. What would you like?"

"A Green Fairy." Lumian accepted without hesitation and sat back down.

Ryan Koss frowned slightly. "Green Fairy... absinthe?

"I think I should warn you that wormwood is harmful to the body. This drink can cause mental derangement and hallucinations."

"I didn't expect fashions from Trier to have spread all the way here," Lya added with a smile.

"Oh," Lumian said.

"So people in Trier like drinking Green Fairy too...

"For us, life is hard enough already. There's no need to worry about a little more harm. This drink helps us relax more."

"All right." Ryan returned to his seat and looked at the bartender. "One Green Fairy, and another Heartburn for me."

Heartburn was a well-known fruit brandy.

"Why not get me a Green Fairy too? I was the one who told you the truth, and I can tell you everything about this boy!" shouted the thin, middle-aged man who had first exposed Lumian's daily storytelling, sounding disgruntled. "Outsider, I can tell you're still wondering whether that story was true!"

"Pierre, you really will do anything for a free drink!" Lumian called back.

Before Ryan could decide, Lumian added, "Why can't I tell you myself? Then I could have another Green Fairy."

"Because they wouldn't know whether to believe you," the middle-aged man named Pierre replied with a smug smile. "Your sister's favorite story to tell the children is 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.' People who keep lying are bound to lose everyone's trust."

"Fine." Lumian shrugged and watched the bartender slide a glass of pale green liquor in front of him.

Ryan looked at him and asked for his approval. "Is that all right?"

"No problem, as long as your wallet can cover the drinks." Lumian was entirely unconcerned.

"Then another Green Fairy." Ryan nodded.

Pierre's face immediately lit up.

"Generous outsider, this boy is the biggest prankster in the village. You'd better keep your distance from him.

"Five years ago, his sister Aurora brought him back to the village, and he hasn't left since. Think about it. Before that, he was only thirteen. How could he have worked as a morgue watchman at a hospital? Besides, the nearest hospital is in Dalege, down the mountain. It takes an entire afternoon to walk there."

"Brought him back to the village?" Lya asked, picking up on the detail.

She tilted her head slightly, setting her bells jingling.

Pierre nodded.

"Aurora moved here six years ago. A year later, she went away for a while and came back with this boy. She said she'd found him on the road, a homeless child who was nearly starving to death, and intended to adopt him.

"Then he took Aurora's surname, Lee. Even the name Lumian was given to him by Aurora."

"I've forgotten what I used to be called," Lumian said with a grin, taking a sip of absinthe.

He seemed to feel no inferiority or shame at having his past laid bare like this.