"For us," Enriki corrected Orel.
"I'll stick it into his groin," Lis said. "Strip him."
"A nice tattoo," Tol smirked looking at Nikto's tattooed thigh.
"He really seems to be from the west," Orel said thoughtfully.
"Okay, he should revive now." Lis took Nikto's wrist to check the pulse. "This tattoo on his arm, the brand of the Unclean – it is the emblem of the western community. If I'm not mistaken."
"Yeah, he has too many tattoos for a plainsman. He's from the west," Orel confirmed.
"Then he was captured, as he said?" Enriki asked. "They disfigured him and addicted him to black water, just as he said?"
"I still don't trust him," Lis said. "He looks more like a mercenary than a slave."
"Maybe they made him join them," Enriki suggested.
"I see only one thing," Tol interfered. "He's into the Unclean up to his ears."
"And what the fuck is that…" Suddenly Lis rushed to the chimney, heated the blade of his knife in the fire and quickly pressed it to the inner side of Nikto's wrist.
The heat revealed a hidden sign, as if a crimson flame ran over a twisted monogram.
"Wow! Nice!" Tol admired the view. "What is it?"
"It's a hidden brand of the Red, idiot," Orel explained. "Lis, how did you notice it?"
"Maybe it's because I also have one," Lis smiled. "He could've been their captive, or he could've worked for them."
"The last thing we need," Enriki exhaled.
"I knew he wasn't telling the truth," Lis said.
"What truth?" Enriki asked. "So far everything we see confirms his tale. He said he needed the drug because he used 'water' for two years, and I bet it's true. I've seen arms like that, only of dead men, though."
"Yeah, me too," Orel nodded.
"He has a brand of the Unclean slave; they addicted him to 'water' and mutilated his face," Tol summarized.
"Yes, it fits," Orel said thoughtfully.
"The Unclean know that a man with such a face won't ever be a full-righted member of our society," Enriki said.
"I think he's quite handsome," Lis said.
"Oh, why don't you get yourself decorations like that then?" Tol laughed.
Lis glared at him. "Shut up, Tol!"
"If someone gets such a wound in a battle," Orel continued musing, "no matter how heavy it is, he can use a medicine, 'sama', for example. It heals without a trace then. And if he didn't do it, it means they didn't let him. I think so."
He bent over Nikto, examining him.
"And there are many small tiny cuts, as if he were slashed. But they are all healed."
Lis squatted near to him.
"Orel, look at those scars at his ear. It looks like his ear was cut off. And then a new one adhered."
"He's been through a lot," Enriki said.
"Well, the Red also cut off ears," Lis said. "Ears and fingers."
They looked at Nikto's hand that missed its ring finger.
"Bad luck for him," Tol said. "It seems we'll find out more about him from his body than he would've told us. Let's strip him! While he's out of it."
"So, both the Unclean and the Red were breaking him" Orel mused aloud.
"And so were we," Lis added.
"And why would everyone need him, this nobody from the west," Tol muttered stripping Nikto.
"That's the thing. It's not so simple." Lis lit a cigarette and took a nervous drag. "I wouldn't mess into it, I told you from the beginning! Orel, do you hear me?"
"I hear you."
"Oh, I'm happy."
"Nah," Tol said, "if they maim you, addict to black water, and the rest of it, you won't care about nothing, you'll just want to stay alive!"
"Look, he's trying to restore," Enriki noticed.
"Yes, this guy claws for his life," Lis agreed looking at Nikto's strong muscular body.
"But he doesn't look like a terribly lucky warrior to me," Enriki shook his head.
"No. Too lucky, to my mind," Orel said. "That arrow hit his heart, didn't it?" He pointed at the oval scar on Nikto's chest.
"A lethal wound," Lis said.
"And this one, on his side. The scar is quite recent."
"He has nine lives," Tol snorted.
"And a bunch of problems as well," Orel added. "I'm quitting."
"Are you crazy?" Enriki stared at him. "What are you thinking of?"
"I'm not breaking him any more," Orel said firmly. "I've had enough."
"Do you know what it means for us? What if he really is a conspirator?"
Nikto shifted, rising somewhat, tossed his hair away from his face and looked over himself: waist-naked, his pants pulled down.
"Did you want to fuck me?" he asked in surprise.
It was like a signal for everyone. Tol bent over cackling, and all the others looked at Nikto and laughed.
"Come here, have a drink," Tol said to Nikto quite friendly.
"Yes, Nik or whatever, really, have a drink with us," Orel agreed.
Nikto got up, clasped his heavy belt, walked up to the table and made a few gulps from a glass.
"May I dress?" he asked.
"Yes, we let you go," Orel said.
Walking back to the pole, Nikto started gathering his scattered possessions.
"Fuck, why did you cut the bandages?"
"Wanted to give you a shot quicker," Orel explained. "Should've told us your veins are shit dead."
He called for a servant and told him to bring new bandages.
"You are skillful," Enriki said watching Nikto wrap his arms in a few seconds.
"Who stuck the needle?" Nikto asked gloomily.
"I did," Lis smiled.
"Thanks," Nikto thought for a moment, "Lis."
Lis laughed. "Aren't you happy? I did my best."
"Oh yes. There was no other place, was there?"
"Well, you'll just have to stay away from your Unclean bitch for a couple weeks," Lis shrugged, "big deal."
Nikto gave him a glance but kept quiet. He was picking up his bracelets from the floor and habitually locking them on his arms with a soft click. When he reached for one of the bracelets behind the post, his long blonde hair fell on the side, baring his back that was completely covered in lash scars.
Friends looked at each other.
"One cool back you have," Lis said.
"Ah, so that's what you wanted to see," Nikto said. "Stripped me, looked at my scars? And now do you let me go because you see I'm a warrior like you?"
"Sit down," Orel said.
Nikto sat down at the table and finished his wine. Tol gave him a cigarette. Nikto glanced at him.
"Thank you." He smoked, leaning against the tall back of the chair. His hand with a missing finger pushed away his hair, revealing the scar crossing his forehead. He examined Tol, Lis, Orel and Enriki with sharp eyes.
"It is not long till the morning," Orel said. "The gates will be open soon, and you will be able to leave the Upper City."
"And what about your job?" Nikto smiled wryly. The disfigured side of his face didn't move.
"Not the first problem of ours. And not the last one," Orel answered. "Not your concern, too."
"You're not so stupid as you seemed at first," Nikto said.
"All right, don't try to play smart," Lis interfered. "We're letting you go – be happy."
Nikto shook his head.
"I am." He walked up to his bag on the floor, picked up his cloak.
"You've ruined my cloak." He looked around. "And what about my mask?"
"Mask?"
"Yes, mask. Black, made of that hard… mm…" he stumbled trying to find the right word, "stuff. I don't know how it's called in your language."
"Who took off his mask? Tol, you did! Where is it?"
"Arel, I… I tossed it to the chimney," Tol said somewhat guiltily. "I was so pissed off!"
"Shi-i-it!" Nikto squeezed his temples with his palms. "Cloak is torn. Mask is burnt! Any patrol will stop me when I look like that!"
"All right, I'll give you my cloak and my mask," Orel tried to settle it. "And you'll walk out of the Upper City without a problem."
"Without a problem! I don't have the right to be in the Upper City at all!"
"I know," Orel smiled.
"See ya," Nikto walked to the door.
"Wait," Orel reached for him. "I'll see you off to the door and give you your weapon. It's upstairs."
His friends exchanged glances but didn't say anything.
"As you wish," Nikto muttered.