Satyr’s Children | Book 1: Siren
The wooden sign for “The Boiling Stew” creaked in the evening chill. It was no different from any other cheap eateries in the Northwatch—warm, noisy, and utterly harmless.
Ali remembered that a few years ago, her parents had brought her and Triton here for their birthdays. It had been the first time she had ever tried fermented fruit juice. Thinking back on it now, she could almost taste that rich sweetness again, a mingling of grapes and sour pomegranate lingering at the tip of her tongue.
For the time being, Triton was still confined to the house to recover. His recovery period was nearly over, and the newly grown horn had mostly hardened, however Miss Claret insisted that he rest a little longer. She had even sent him a jar of precious Longwing Featherbee’s honey, saying it would help restore his strength.
With the key “witness” unable to take part, the investigation into “Bert” in the Forbidden Zone and the newly emerged monsters had ground to a halt. And Ali was grateful for this brief pause from the bottom of her heart.
There was still one person waiting for her to save. And there was still one conspiracy waiting for her to tear open.
This evening was extremely chilly. The low temperature seemed to freeze the aromas of food drifting through the cracks between the wooden buildings until they smelled somehow different.
Ali drew a deep breath of the icy air and pulled her father’s old felt hat over her head, the brim hanging so low that it completely concealed her short gray-black hair. Before leaving, she had quietly “borrowed” a set of old clothes that her brother rarely wore. The loose fabric hung awkwardly from her frame, making her look like a scrawny boy who had yet to hit his growth spurt. She deliberately hunched her shoulders, shoved her hands into her pockets, and imitated the swaggering mannerisms of the hotheaded boys at the Guild school.
Then she pushed open the polished wooden door of “The Boiling Stew” and walked inside.
The smells of toasted bread, meat stew, and ale seemed to boil together amid the noisy crowd. The dining hall was dimly lit, its walls blackened by years of cooking smoke. Every long table was crowded with artisans fresh from a day’s labor and Trailblazers still carrying the dust of the road.
Ali quickly scanned the room. She soon spotted the familiar figure weaving between the tables and chairs, a broad apron tied around her waist.
Maria was wearing a plain dark-brown wool dress with a gray-white apron layered over it, covering her from chest to ankles. Here and there, the apron was dotted with stains that would never wash out—judging by its condition, she was almost certainly not its first owner. The Siren girl’s wave-blue curls were carefully braided and pinned up, tucked neatly beneath a simple linen headscarf. Only a few damp wisps of hair remained, clinging tightly to her forehead and temples.
“I… I can tell you where I live and where I work, Fero, if… if that will make you feel better Fero. But please… don’t cause any trouble. Please… don’t take away the last option I have left…”
Ali knew full well that compared with that Siren man, she was nothing.
What could she possibly offer? Her father had spent half his life fighting just to rise to the position of a Rank Silver Shieldbearer. Her mother was a disgraced exile cast out of the royal capital. And she and her brother were nothing more than two Apprentice Trailblazers with uncertain futures.
What could she possibly do against a “hope” that promised to fulfill the lifelong dream of Maria and her family? What did her own childish feelings amount to in the face of cold reality? Did Maria really need her flimsy, worthless sympathy?
Could this still be identified as “love”? Perhaps all she was doing was pitying Maria from a position of superiority. Perhaps she only wanted to prove that, at least, she was better off in the end. Was that insecure half-blooded girl still hiding somewhere inside her, quietly jealous of someone who came much closer to being a “perfect Siren” than she ever could?
Ali found a seat in a corner near a wall-hanging, where she could see most of the dining hall without drawing much attention. She pulled the brim of her hat lower and ordered a small cup of light ale from a gray-haired server, doing her best to roughen her voice.
The ale arrived quickly. Ali cradled the cool ceramic cup in both hands without taking a single sip. She kept her eyes fixed on Maria from a distance, not blinking.
You look… exhausted. Ali thought to herself.
Even through the moving crowds and dim lighting, she could see the heavy dark circles beneath Maria’s eyes and the dullness on her scales. The girl was forcing herself to keep going, like a fish missing half of its tail, desperately struggling to swim through the crush of people.
I’m sorry, Maria. I… I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. But I know one thing for certain: I have to find a way to get you out of here. Otherwise, my conscience will cry out every night for failing to reach out a hand to you when you needed me. I know that’s selfish, but… Forgive me, Maria. I don’t know what else to do anymore…
Maria moved mechanically and quickly, carrying dishes out and clearing them away, but her eyes kept drifting restlessly toward the restaurant entrance. Every now and then, she would glance swiftly toward the kitchen, as though waiting for someone—or perhaps watching out for something. Her lips were pressed tightly together, the soft curve they once held gone without a trace.
Did she see me? No. She probably didn’t. Then who was she waiting for? That man? Or… someone else?
A pang of worry twisted through Ali’s chest.
She noticed Maria nearly knocked over a bottle of salt while taking an order, distracted for just a moment. When clearing the leftovers from the neighboring table, her hands were trembling slightly.
… She’s afraid.
Ali desperately wanted to rush over and grab her friend’s hand. But she forced the impulse down.
No. Not here. Not now.
She looked around and realized that ordering nothing but a single beer was rather conspicuous in a place packed with hungry men. At the table beside her, a broad-shouldered man was noisily scraping the last bits of stew from his bowl with a wooden spoon, chewing so vigorously that juices splattered everywhere.
Not wanting to give herself away, Ali hurriedly called the server over again and vaguely pointed toward the wooden board on the wall advertising the “Stew of the Day.”
When a large bowl of steaming “Forbidden Zone Stew” was placed in front of her, glistening with rich grease, Ali found the smell of meat so overpowering that it nearly made her nauseous.
She had no appetite whatsoever. All she could do was stir the stew aimlessly with her spoon, pretending to eat. Her eyes never left Maria.
Time crawled by as she watched in mounting anxiety. Just when Ali was beginning to think she would go home emptyhanded tonight, she saw Maria pause after clearing one of the tables.
Her eyes once again flicked rapidly toward the entrance. Then, as though she had finally made up her mind, she turned and hurried toward the wooden door leading to the kitchen. Her figure disappeared immediately.
What is she doing back there? Is it her break? Or… Is she going to meet someone?
“Pack it to go, please,” Ali said quietly.
The stew and several pieces of hard bread were neatly bundled in broad leaves with a twine by the seasoned server. While he packed the food, Ali cautiously surveyed her surroundings.
If her father’s guess was correct, Maria’s fiancé might have accomplices. She could not be sure she had not given herself away that evening, so she had to be even more careful not to alert anyone.
“Quite a crowd tonight…” she muttered, paying the bill with copper coins before quietly sliding a small silver coin across to the server. “A tip to you, mister. Thank you for the service..”
“Thank you, sir… for your generosity.” The gray-haired server paused for a moment, then gave her a knowing smile that was not at all unfriendly and swiftly swept the silver coin into his apron pocket. “There are a few lads by the back door… Some of them have had rather too much to drink. You might want to keep your wits about you.”
“Much obliged.” Ali pulled the brim of her hat down tighter and rose with the wrapped food in hand, looking every bit like an ordinary young apprentice sent out by his family to buy dinner. “Have a pleasant evening.”
“You as well, ‘sir.’” The server walked away.
The men sitting near the kitchen door looked like the most sober people in the entire restaurant. There was no food on their table, only several half-filled glasses serving as props and a scattering of black leaves—probably something like Vigilia Leaf, meant to be stuffed into the pipes they held between their teeth. They smoked in silence, sitting perfectly still, their eyes slowly sweeping across the diners like a patrol.
Anyone who could afford Vigilia Leaf was unlikely to be an ordinary restaurant guard.
The plant grew only along the edges of the Forbidden Zones in western Halcyon. Once dried, its leaves contained a peculiar substance that could sharpen alertness, soothe the nerves, and enhance concentration. At first, it had been used as a medicinal herb by alchemists and physicians. Inhaling its smoke could ease fatigue or aid meditation. Later, minor nobles and merchants began smoking it through pipes, turning the habit into a fashionable pastime among the middle classes.
“Don’t touch the Vigilia Leaf.” Ali vaguely remembered her parents warning her and Triton. “It’s addictive. Once you get hooked, it’s very hard to quit.”
Ali looked away from the men.
She did not head directly toward the kitchen. Instead, based on the experience she had gained from sneaking out of class in the past, she left through the front and circled around the outside of the building, looking for a way toward the back of the restaurant.
Maria… Where did you go?
A foul stench hung over the alley behind “The Boiling Stew,” a nauseating mixture of spoiled food, slop, and greasy waste.
Ali soon found the shed beside the kitchen, crammed with broken barrels and discarded furniture. Deliberately hushed voices came from inside. She immediately curled up behind a pile of empty burlap sacks and held her breath, listening.
“… Take the package. Hand it to the first customer who comes through the door tomorrow morning.” A man’s voice, ragged and cold.
“… I understand,” Maria replied quietly.
“Don’t screw this up. Think about your little brother.” The man’s threat drove into Ali’s ears like an icicle piercing the shadows. “… I’ll be watching you.”
Who’s that bastard? Maria’s fiancé? No, he sounded too young to be him. It’s one of his men, then…
Ali bit down hard on her lip, her fingernails digging into her palms.
They were actually threatening her with her brother! What was in that package? Poison? A forbidden relic? Or something even worse?
Anger and fear tore at her heart.
Get out! Take her away! Now!
A voice screamed inside her.
But reason held her back with an iron grip.
No. That would put Maria and her brother in danger.
She had to learn more. She had to figure out the entire chain of this handoff!
Ali carefully shifted her body, but the tiny movement startled several large rats rummaging around her feet for food. The frightened vermin twisted their fat bodies and scattered in every direction, knocking against a battered wooden barrel perched precariously above.
No, don’t—
CRASH!
The sound of splintering wood exploded through the silence of the alley.
“Who’s there?!” The man’s voice rang out sharply from inside the shed, followed by the sudden approach of footsteps.
Ali’s mind went completely blank. All that remained was the instinct to run.
Like a startled rabbit, she sprang from her hiding place and bolted deeper into the alley, heavy footsteps and the man’s shouts pounding after her.
But at the other end of the alley, the two men who had been leaning against the wall as though they were merely taking a break and smoking sprang into action as well. They moved together to block her escape.
A choking wave of smoke rushed into her face.
Vigilia Leaf! They were the suspicious men from the restaurant! They really were working together!
But with the exit blocked ahead and pursuers coming from behind, Ali was driven into a corner piled high with broken tables and chairs, with nowhere left to go. Her back pressed tightly against the cold, rough stone wall as she listened to the increasingly close footsteps converging on her from both sides.
Despair surged over her like a rising tide.
I can’t use my weapon. There are too many of them. I can’t break through alone…
Should I use the “Edict Song”?
No. Her throat had just recovered. She had only had the bandages removed a few days ago. If she forced herself to use it now, she would not only expose herself as a Siren, it might not even work…
Think, Ali, think!
A large hand reached for the brim of her hat—
“Well, well, well…” Someone cleared his throat.
“Gentlemen, cornering a ragged child in the back alley of a family inn hardly seems very gentlemanly, does it?”
The hand froze in midair.
Ali jerked her head up.
A young man in exotic hunting attire stood lazily at the entrance to the alley, arms folded as he leaned casually against the wall. He wore a delicate pair of crystal spectacles, the silver chain attached to one of the temples hanging down beside his face and swaying gently whenever he moved.
Jet black hair. Jet black eyes. He looked unfamiliar, but Ali was almost certain she had heard that voice somewhere before.
“We… caught a little thief stealing.” The man reaching for her hat forced himself to sound calm as he explained.
“Oh? What did this boy steal from you?”
The young man walked toward them without a trace of hurry. In one hand, he carried something caked in mud tied by a rope, while a playful smile lingered on his face. His black-and-white boots left a trail of fleeting square-shaped prints in the muddy water running across the ground.
Ah… It’s him.
But what is he doing here?
“Is the food in his hands stolen?” The young man pushed up his spectacles. His gaze drifted lightly over Ali, huddled in the corner and disguised as a boy, before returning to the men. “Because I happened to dine at ‘The Boiling Stew’ just now, and I distinctly saw this young fellow pay for it.”
His tone remained almost teasing.
“To me, it looks rather more like a group of grown men giving a Guild-school apprentice trouble for no reason. Shall I call the patrol nearby and let them decide who is in the right? Or perhaps… Should I report this directly to the captain of the guards of House Morningdew? I imagine the lord would be very interested to learn who has been causing trouble in his city.”
One of the men’s temple veins bulged, and he looked ready to strike. But his companion seized him by the wrist.
“Don’t… That’s one from House Zhao…”
The men’s expressions changed instantly. They exchanged a dark glance, muttered a few curses under their breath, and finally backed away. Before long, they scattered like startled birds, as though they had never been there at all.
The alley fell abruptly silent, leaving only Ali’s relieved breathing.
“My retainer asked me to make absolutely sure this was returned to you.”
Zhao Yixian crouched down, took Ali’s slightly trembling hand, and, with an almost magician-like flourish, placed a small silver coin in her palm.
“House Zhao does not accept payment for favors we have not earned.”
Ali turned her head as though shocked by an electric current. The gray-haired “server” was already standing at the other end of the alley. He exchanged a glance with Zhao Yixian, then gave Ali a humble bow.
Wait… Could it be that this pair of master and retainer had been following her the entire time?
No… that couldn’t be the case. The retainer had been disguised as a server and working in the restaurant from the very beginning. She did not remember seeing Zhao Yixian anywhere in the restaurant. And that “server” had been someone she called over at random. How could that possibly have been a coincidence?
“Zhao Yixian…” Ali lowered her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Fortune brings us together, Miss Aliferous. You may call me String.” The Yeelan boy smiled, then lifted the strange lump of earth in his hand. “You’re asking about this, no? It’s ‘beggar’s chicken,’ a dish from my homeland. I heard ‘The Boiling Stew’ had paid a handsome sum to bring in a Yeelan cook, so my retainer and I came to get a taste of home. We indeed didn’t expect to run into you here, miss.”
Ali could just make out several messy poultry feathers sticking out from cracks in the split clay casing. String might not have been lying about that part.
But… that still did not explain why his undercover retainer deliberately kept an eye on her in the restaurant.
Still, this probably wasn’t the time to press the issue. Those men might still be lurking nearby.
“Let us walk you to Market Street.” String held out his hand to Ali again. “It’s getting late. If we delay any longer, your family will start worrying.”
Ali glanced back toward the shed. There was no one there. Maria must have slipped back into the restaurant as soon as the commotion began.
“… All right.” Ali ignored the hand the boy had offered and stood up on her own, dusting off her clothes. “Thank you.”
The three of them walked on in silence. Ali’s mind, however, was racing.
Why had Zhao Yixian brought a retainer who had apparently been lying in wait and shown up at such an inconspicuous restaurant for no obvious reason?
Come to think of it, more than a month had passed since Bert was murdered, yet the killer still had not been caught. Everyone knew that House Morningdew had never given up the investigation.
Messengers from the Morningdew estate had announced in the square that, through magic and interrogation, they had already narrowed down the list of suspects. It was just that the man who was wanted had fled into the Forbidden Zone and disappeared.
But the problem was… Had a murderer who fled into the Forbidden Zone really just “vanished”? Could he have accomplices? Before entering the Forbidden Zone, might he have left clues somewhere, or met up with his accomplices?
This restaurant—“The Boiling Stew”—was not particularly secluded. People were constantly coming and going, making it an ideal place to arrange a secret meeting or pass information without attracting attention.
Just like those men smoking Vigilia Leaf had arranged for Maria.
String was a guest of House Morningdew, and more importantly, the fiancé of their new heir, Julchen. There was no way he had come here merely for a “taste of home” in the form of a “beggar’s chicken!”
They were investigating!
House Morningdew suspected that this restaurant might somehow be connected to Bert’s murder. Perhaps it had been the killer’s last known location before disappearing. Perhaps it was even a base of operations for some underground organization.
String and his retainer were here for investigation.
But before the thrill of successfully piecing it all together could even reach Ali’s nerves, another colder thought swept over her.
Could it be…? Could the wanted murderer of Bert and his accomplices be the very same group as the “Vigilia Leaf gang” controlling Maria?
It occurred to Ali that if String and his retainer’s investigation had not happened to take place here tonight, she might well have been in serious trouble.
That “server” had gone out of his way to help her, even pointing out the suspicious men to her. Perhaps that had not been entirely out of kindness. Perhaps he simply did not want an “unexpected variable” like her to interfere with the investigation they were actually here to conduct.
Still… She got them exposed.
That gang had recognized String, and the retainer would probably have difficulty infiltrating “The Boiling Stew” again without changing his disguise.
… Ugh. Now she owed him one.
Ali guiltily stole a few glances at String.
The Yeelan boy seemed completely unaffected by the exposure of his disguise or the failure of his infiltration. Quite the opposite—he seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood. His footsteps were light, and even the hand carrying the beggar’s chicken swung cheerfully back and forth.
Now that they were walking side by side, the rich aroma of poultry grew stronger and more devious, sneaking into Ali’s nose until it finally stirred the famished stomach of the tightly wound Siren girl into a long, miserable growl.
Fortunately, she could already see the stone house of House Featherflight in the distance. And the food carefully packed for her by a certain “server” was still warm in her hand.
She hurriedly said goodbye to the two men who had escorted her, then ran toward home.
It was time for dinner. Her family was waiting for her.
