Chương 100: The Thieves' Song

The children added a song to their game the following day. Kichan was the first to let the melody slip. He often hummed a line from an Earth song while standing before the shelter pot. It was not a song performed for anyone. When Dust crept toward the pot, he tapped the ladle in time with the beat. When Valkyrie moved too close to the fire, he pushed it away on the next line. Batu lay across the kitchen threshold. Each time the ladle struck the pot, his ears rose and the tip of his tail tapped the ground.

The children memorized the short melody from outside the kitchen. They did not know what it meant. They sang two of the notes wrong. Instead, they added their own words to fit the game where they stole supply sacks. The lyrics changed every time. When someone raised a broom, the others shouted that the thief had come. They beat on pot lids and followed one count late. One version said Kichan stole meat. Another said Argaon had become a chicken.

"Why am I a chicken?" Argaon asked the same question for the third day.

"You wore a chicken feather." Kichan gave the same answer for the third day. Marena, the tea seller, heard the song at the edge of the lot. She was the woman who had first given Kichan molly tea at the border. Now she had a small tent at the entrance to the temporary market, where she sold tea from six cracked cups. Even after the children scattered, Marena kept the pot-lid rhythm with one finger.

"That's a strange song."

"The children made it."

"They must have heard about the singing thief." Marena smiled at Kichan. He pretended not to hear and lifted his cup.

"Are you really a good singer?"

"I just sing."

"I heard you're good at guitar too."

"There aren't any guitars here." Marena pulled the broom from where it rested against the tent pole and held it out to him.

"We have this." Kichan looked down at the handle.

"You want me to play this?"

"The children seemed quite good with it." People in the market began to turn their heads. A merchant laying out dried fish stopped moving. One of the bridge masons came over with stone dust still on his clothes. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. Riphiel had already pulled over an empty chair and sat down.

"You should do it once."

"Why are you sitting first?"

"I am the audience." Argaon stood beside her holding a cup of tea.

"Does singing make meat appear?"

"No."

"Then why do it?"

"You stay out of this." Kichan accepted the broom. He held the handle with his left hand and strummed strings that did not exist with his right. His fingers were not awkward. There were no strings and no sound, yet he knew which chord he was holding.

"You really are playing it." Marena spoke.

"You told me to." Kichan began the first line in a low voice. It was an old song he had sung in Korea. A song about someone who traveled a long road and returned empty-handed. It never said what the traveler had gained. It remembered only the shoes left by the door and the smell of cold rice. No one understood the lyrics. Even so, the market slowly grew quiet. The bargaining over horses stopped. Hammers rested for one beat. A human soldier leaned against a spear.

A furred merchant stood over dried fish without covering it. Kichan raised his voice slightly for the second verse. His fingers slipped along the broom handle. You looked okay when you played guitar. Words he had heard long ago in a cafe returned. In the past, his throat would have closed there. Kichan simply went on to the next line. The final note faded low. The market remained quiet for a moment. Marena had stopped wiping a cup and was looking at Kichan.

In the glow of the little lamp and the steam rising from the tea, one corner of her mouth lifted by the smallest amount. Her gaze was not on Kichan, but on the empty space where the song had ended. Kichan watched her face and nearly lost his grip on the broom.

"What's wrong?" Argaon asked.

"The lamp is too close."

"What does that have to do with the broom?"

"You be quiet." Kichan pushed aside the thought that Marena looked more beautiful listening to his song than she did smiling. He decided it was the lamp and returned the broom to the tent pole. Argaon asked first.

"What was the song about?"

"Going home."

"Why did the person go back empty-handed?"

"Songs are just like that."

"What about the meat?"

"There wasn't any."

"A strange song." People laughed. Marena did not. She looked at the broom Kichan had returned to the pole.

"It was very different from what the children sang."

"They changed it however they wanted."

"I still like this one better." Marena poured fresh tea into the cracked cup.

"Payment for the song."

"I already bought a cup."

"That was the price of the tea." After sunset, Kichan heard the same beat beneath the bridge. The former thieves who had been carrying stones struck empty barrels with hammer handles. One man sang the children's line about the thief arriving. From the opposite side, another answered one beat late that everyone should hide the meat. Kichan's song was too difficult for them to follow. Instead, they changed one refrain into their own words. Even after the long road home, the fire remains.

When one person sang it wrong, someone else sang it even more wrongly and louder. When Kichan appeared on the bridge, one thief waved.

"The singing thief!"

"Don't call me that."

"One more thief song!"

"There isn't one."

"You sang it earlier!"

"That wasn't a thief song." Laughter burst from beneath the bridge. Kichan started to leave, then stopped.

"The beat's too fast." The hands striking the barrel stopped. Kichan tapped the railing twice. Slower. The thieves followed his beat. Even after the long road home, the fire remains. This time, the words fit inside the rhythm. Kichan did not sing. He only listened until they reached the end.