The Orchestra of Delivery

The tavern buzzed with noise. People often sought solace in such places, for their times were hard—those in power sought to enrich themselves at the expense of their citizens: stricter laws, curfews, increased taxes. Though everyone knew they lived in abundance that others could only dream of. There was nowhere for peaceful folk to go... They simply tried to escape reality, from the darkness that was penetrating the entire kingdom with each passing hour.

The young men, as usual, took their seats at their favorite table—it stood next to the right wooden wall, barely illuminated by a yellow light. Gurzhik was about to place an order when Mansur interrupted him: "You know, I wasn't always just a porter..." To him, this felt like confiding in a mute relative, sharing intriguing stories. He sighed heavily before continuing, "Once, I was a scholar—an explorer of knowledge in a world afraid of progress. The community of scholars, deeming my experiments radical and dangerous, expelled me. Now I lack the license and allowance to procure the ingredients I need for my potions. They cast me out like an unwanted puppy. And for what?... For daring to do what they couldn't achieve throughout their entire history?! The absurdity... I didn't deserve such treatment. They simply weren't ready for change... I'll never forgive them! I considered them close friends, but when it came to another's success, when I was left with nothing, envy began to devour me from within, corroding every fragment of light in my soul."

Gurzhik listened attentively, watching Mansur's pale face. His heart played a melancholy tune, harmonizing with a mournful flute solo, empathizing with his new companion. Clearing his throat, Gurzhik murmured softly, "It seems you were ahead of your time..." Mansur simply nodded in rhythm. "And what about you? Why has the son of a nobleman been reduced to working as a porter?" Mansur asked suddenly, fixing his gaze sharply on Gurzhik. "I too was rejected. My alma mater, supposed to nurture my talents, didn't reciprocate," Gurzhik replied heavily. "I failed the trimester's main exam miserably, and now I'm just a porter... Irony, isn't it?.." "Hmm... We're in the same boat, Gurzhik," Mansur said, tilting his head with sadness. "Both bound by chains of the past," Gurzhik added. "Indeed," Mansur said humbly. Mansur's eyes softened with sympathy; he felt a newfound warmth spreading through his body, as if he had found a kindred spirit to whom he was ready to confide his troubles.

They sat in silence after that, occasionally exchanging glances. After a while, Gurzhik decided to place an order, choosing what they usually had. Without another word, absorbed in melancholy, they went their separate ways after a hearty dinner.

The next day arrived. Walking into the tavern, Gurzhik saw Mansur talking to Edgar.

"I wonder what they're talking about," Gurzhik thought, slowly approaching them.

"Oh, hello, Shadowmore," Edgar noticed, tapping his pipe. "Sorry, but I must be off. Mansur will tell you everything."

"Goodbye," Gurzhik said softly, watching him leave.

"It's time for us to get to work," Mansur interrupted.

"Agreed," Gurzhik replied with little enthusiasm. "Are we delivering orders to the nearby districts?"

"Yes," Mansur replied, turning to Gurzhik.

Unperturbed, they began their work as usual. They headed towards the warehouses. After receiving orders for delivering wine barrels, they set off on their first delivery.

Navigating through narrow alleys teeming with people rushing about, they warmly conversed on various topics. The previous tension had dissipated, and once again, the golden sun sparkled in the sky. Even the wind, which had recently been bending the tops of trees, calmed down and gently touched the warmth of the two youths. The path to the customer was challenging but not far. They passed tiny shops where merchants offered their wares and peculiar buildings that had already become a city landmark. Meanwhile, Manakur, a nearby meat trader, noticed Gurzhik and his new companion passing by their family shop with goods. However, Manakur Thornud decided not to intervene, closing the doors of his shop. He didn't want to bring trouble upon his friend.

Their cart creaked softly on the uneven road as they continued to laugh and exchange conversations. Gradually, their path led to a winding street where the customer's house stood. Stopping at the brown door with a copper imp head as a knocker, Mansur knocked quietly, listening for footsteps beyond. Opening the door, they were greeted by a strange yet imposing figure with a thick beard and a glint in his eyes. He was dressed in a dark cloak and hood, making his face almost indistinguishable.

"Delivery," Mansur asked in a low voice, with a mysterious note at the end.

"Yes, sir. We've brought your order," Mansur replied. "Could you state your name?" he added, pulling out a scroll to verify the goods.

"My name is Lawrence. Lawrence Greenwood," the customer reluctantly replied.

"Then please sign here," Mansur handed him the document.

Quickly signing, Lawrence rushed to count the goods as if they were trying to escape somewhere.

"Um... Is everything alright, Mr. Lawrence?" Mansur timidly asked, giving him a cold glance.

Gurzhik just silently watched, though Lawrence's mystery planted a seed of doubt in him about whether they were delivering the goods to the right person.

"Yes, everything's here," the customer said, stepping back from the cart.

Suddenly, he whistled at an extremely high pitch, the resonance of which spread to the next block. Gurzhik even covered his ears. At the whistle from his door, two youths in black mantles also came out, looking absurdly like draped dolls manipulated by invisible strings from above.

Mr. Lawrence pointed at the cart with the goods. However, they silently nodded and began carrying them into the darkness of their home. Bringing in the last barrel, the boy wanted to say something but only whispered something to his comrade, who was waiting for the customer's order. Lawrence silently nodded, making a strange sigh, like the sound of a surf in the deepest storm and as gentle as a breeze at the end of spring.

Mansur and Gurzhik exchanged glances, embarrassed by the strange situation, silently watching as the "black mantles" carried the goods into the darkness of the house.

"Thank you, goodbye," said Mr. Lawrence, abruptly closing the doors.

"Goodbye, Mr. Lawrence, good day," said Mansur in response.

"What about payment..." Gurzhik said into the void.

"He's prepaying," Mansur said firmly, looking at the package, which was pale at the edges.

"Understood."

Without saying a word, they went back to the tavern. By the end of the path, Mansur asked, "Well? It wasn't bad, was it?" Gurzhik tentatively turned towards him and said, "Mm-hmm... Are such odd clients common for you?" To which Mansur firmly replied, "Well... Not really. However, sometimes there are such oddities. So whether you like it or not, you'll have to deliver goods. There are still not such a few of them." To which the youth with the scarf, smiling, said, "This is true."

Having arrived at the tavern, they took more orders and set off to deliver the goods again.