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philliamwrites · 4 years ago

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killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 3.5k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.

Notes: Part 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.

Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.

Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.

If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.

Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.

“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.

That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.

“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.

“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.

“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.

“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”

“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”

You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”

“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”

It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.

While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.

“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”

“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”

“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”

He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.

“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.

You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”

“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”

“I really don’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”

It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”

“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”

More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?

“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.

“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”

Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.

Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.

“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.

“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”

You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”

You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.

Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.

“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”

Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”

You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.

Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”

He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?

If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.

There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.

You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.

“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.

Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”

“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.

“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.

“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.

“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”

Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”

Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”

Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.

A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”

Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.

A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.

“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.

That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.

Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.

You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.

You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.

Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.

“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”

“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.

Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”

He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.

* * *

Dear little tygress,

forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.

Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.

Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.

How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.

Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.

Yours, Red Fox

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #genshin impact #genshin impact childe #childe #tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia #reader #reader insert #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x you #childe x you #genshin impact tartaglia x you #genshin impact childe x you

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treba-neco-napise · 5 years ago

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Jsem tady znovu a přináším ochutnávku fikce, která mě díky tomuhle postu napadla. Počkal bych, než ji dopíšu, ale chci vědět, jestli by to někdo četl, protože to může vyhlížet jako levná Postava x OC fikce (pro ty, kterým čeština již zcela vymazala anglicizmy z kebule, nemyslím obchodní centrum).

V podstatě jde o polovičně gender-ohnutou fanfikci, kde měl hrnčíř Karaba větší štěstí a dostal syna, který byl vychováván jako středověký nadjunák - samozřejmě mu osud přivařil do cesty pohromu kuchtíka/prince.

Předem se omlouvám, že kradu jméno Vraníkovi, ale jméno Janek jsem slyšel, když si to loupežník Vetchý hasil domů lesem. Až pak jsem zjistil, že to byl asi Jan a to první už se mi líbilo. Jde o asi druhou kapitolu, protože setkání jsem pořád nedal dohromady.

Přeji dobré počteníčko a dejte vědět, jestli chcete nášup.

Můžeš (kudla), stačí chtít

Ti vydřiduši! Já bych je-

Janek celou cestu zpátky do města v duchu nadával tak barvitě, že i Karaba starší by byl spíše pohoršen, než pyšný. Nikdy si nedají pokoj, to věděl. I kdyby Ferenc s Lorencem nebyli, vykořisťoval by království někdo jiný, jen zpovzdálí a potichu. Zlo tu bude vždycky, říkal mu táta, abychom s ním bojovali. Bez zla by nebylo ani dobro.

Ale i tak si rád představoval, že to jednou přestane.

Nůši nechal na kraji lesa pod vyvráceným stromem i s oblečením, a běžel podél hranice k hradu. Černá kůže se mu horkem lepila na tělo a šátek byl zadýchaný, ale nikdy si nestěžoval. Jako Karaba se cítil svobodný. Nic ho neomezovalo, nikdo ho nezastavil. Byl jako stín za bílého dne, nikdo ho nemohl chytit.

Ve vesnici probíhal mezi domy, a jak čekal, brzy uslyšel známé hlasy. Zaskřípal zuby. Zpoza rohu domu měl Ference s Lorencem jako na dlani.

„Vždyť už jsem platila!“ bránila se včelařka Lucie.

„Ale já si to nějak nepamatuji.“ poklepal si Ferenc v předstíraném přemýšlení prstem na bradu. „Ty ano, Lorenci?“

„Vůbec ne, Ferenci.“ chytil se toho Lorenc.

„A chceš snad tvrdit, že královští rádci lžou!?“ obořil se rádce na včelařku.

„Lžou a taky kradou!“ ozvalo se za ním. Vzápětí všichni uslyšeli cvaknout pojistku střelné zbraně.

„Ferenci, vždyť jsi říkal-“

„Buď zticha!“

„Pomalu se otočte.“ Rádci se pomalu a neochotně obrátili. „Vraťte ty peníze.“ Tváří v tvář loupežníkovi se Ferencovi usídlil na obličeji vychytral�� výraz.

„Ty se nikdy nepoučíš? Minule už jsi málem seděl v šatlavě.“

„A vy?“ opáčil Karaba. Otec bral většinou peníze nenápadně, když se nikdo nedíval. Byl to Jankův nedostatek předstíraného respektu pro vrchnost, co ho často přimělo vyfouknout jim vybrané daně přímo před nosem.

„My ano.“ usmál se Ferenc a luskl.

Nic se nestalo. Janek se rozesmál. „To mě mělo-“ Bambitka mu vyletěla z ruky. Prudce se otočil. Za ním stál voják s divným kotoučem kovu v rukou. Na něm jako přilepená visela jeho pistole. „Co to-“

„Na něj!“ zakřičel Ferenc a během chvilky ho obklopilo šest vojáků. Magnetický kotouč s bambitkou zamířil do rukou rádců. Kudla.

„Jak chcete.“ zamumlal Janek a rozeběhl se k prvnímu vojákovi. Popadl jeho přilbu, namáčkl mu ji na obličej, pak ho s ní praštil po hlavě a poslal ho k zemi. Druhé dva chytil pažemi kolem krku a srazil jim hlavy k sobě. Uštědřil pár dobře mířených pěstí, pár kopanců, po někom helmu hodil. Uslyšel dupot, jak se ulicemi blížily posily.

„Kudla!“ Z toho se nevyhrabe. Nemá bambitku, nevrátil peníze, a teď ho ještě vsadí do vězení a popraví. A jestli se z toho dostane živý, zabije ho otec.

„Loupežníku!“ ozvalo se za ním. Otočil se. Na střeše domu seděl nějaký moula v modré kapuci se začerněným obličejem… No to snad ne!

Když Jakuba potkal ráno na trhu, nemohl uvěřit, že takového ňoumu mohla královská kuchyně zplodit. Pravda ovšem byla, že i on musel mžourat, aby ten škrabopis rozluštil. Samozřejmě mu musel vrátit ten dluh za trakař, ale Janek nečekal, že ho znovu potká tak brzy, tím spíše na střeše domu.

„Polez!“ zavolal na něj Jakub. Janek vyskočil na nedaleký žebřík, vylezl na střechu, a žebřík svrhl na hlouček vojáků, aby je zdržel.

„Díky.“ řekl. Pak svraštil obočí. „Proč máš obličej od uhlí?“ Zachránce pokrčil rameny. „Pomoct ti by byla velezrada, ne?“ Janek se pod šátkem slabě usmál. Vážně to nebyl takový blbeček.

Rozhlédl se. Stromy byly až moc daleko na to, aby se po nich dalo sešplhat, a skákat ze střechy by v tu chvíli bylo riskantní, navíc by si tím moc nepomohl. Ale dům směrem k lesu byl dost blízko.

„Tak jdeme.“ zavelel, následován kuchtíkovým nepochopeným pohledem.

„Kam?“

„Kam asi? Chceš tu zůstat a počkat, než pro tebe vylezou?“

„Ne, ale-“

„Fajn. Teď se musíš odrazit a chytit se hřebene. Jdi za mnou.“

„Počkej-“ Ale loupežník nečekal.

Se střechami měl Janek dobrý vztah. Už jako malý přibíjel tašky, když zatékalo dovnitř. Občas v noci vylezl nahoru a dlouho se díval na měsíc, zatímco mu myšlenky vířily hlavou jedna za druhou. Skákání trénoval s tátou v noci, kdy je za to nikdo nehonil, a samozřejmě byla tma. Za bílého dne to byla vcelku hračka.

Zachytil se tašek na hřebeni druhého domu, sedl si obkročmo a povzdychl si.

„Tak dělej!“ Jakub se vyškrábal na nohy. Kmital pohledem mezi dvěma střechami a vypadal bezradně.

„Já nemůžu!“ odpověděl. Janek zakoulel očima. Zpoza střechy se vyplížila ruka a chytila Jakuba za kotník.

„Pozor!“ Jakub kopl nohou ve vzduchu a hned nato se ozval výkřik a řinčení kovu. Janek předpokládal, že kuchtík shodil vojáka a sklátil tím všechny, co se dole konečně postavili. Koutek úst se mu pod šátkem zdvihl.

„Co když spadnu?“ vyhrkl Jakub, se kterým viditelně lomcoval strach. Docházel jim čas. Janek se na hřebeni posunul blíž k němu a natáhl ruku.

„Chytím tě.“ Jakub mu pohlédl do očí. A skočil.

Zachytil se římsy a loupežník mu pomohl nahoru.

„Teď budeme muset bez zastavení.“ oznámil mu Janek, když vstal a zapřel se nohama o tašky. Vojáci pod nimi za pokřikování rádců přistavěli žebřík. „Vím, že to zvládneš.“ řekl. „Za mnou na tři.“ Jakub kývl. „Raz, dva, tři!“ Janek se odrazil a jelením skokem dopadl, Jakub za ním. Při doskoku na druhou střechu mu uklouzla noha, ale než stačil vykřiknout, Karaba ho chytil za košili a vytáhl nahoru.

„Díky.“ vydral ze sebe kuchtík. Loupežník neodpověděl.

Přeskočili ještě dvě střechy a dostali se ke kraji vesnice.

„Teď dolů.“ zavelel Janek a pohlédl na kupu sena u domu. Bylo to mnohem lepší než slézt po stromě, protože pochyboval, že ten jeliman z hradu by se dostal dolů do večera.

„Je to docela vysoko…“ mumlal Jakub, ale než mohl dodat něco podobně důmyslného, Karaba do něj strčil a skočil hned za ním.

„A teď do lesa!“

*****

U skal se zastavili a Jakub stěží popadal dech. Skácel se na zem a měl pocit, jako by mu srdce tlouklo v hlavě místo v hrudi.

„To nebylo vůbec špatný.“ řekl loupežník uznale. Bylo to poprvé, co promluvil, od toho pádu do sena.

„Díky.“ vymáčkl ze sebe Jakub mezi vzdechy.

„Měl by sis umýt obličej, vypadáš jako bys strkal hlavu do komína.“ Pod šátkem to nebylo vidět, ale princ měl pocit, jako by v Karabově hlase zaslechl úšklebek.

„Víš, představoval jsem si tě staršího.“ řekl. Loupežník na chvíli přimhouřil oči.

„Jak můžeš vědět, kolik mi je?“

„Podle hlasu přece.“ Teď se mu zdálo, jako by Karaba pod šátkem se shovívavým úsměvem lehce zavrtěl hlavou.

„Zdání může klamat. Můžeš si myslet, že někoho znáš, a přitom třeba skrývá větší tajemství, než si umíš představit.“ Jakub se nad tím zamyslel. Loupežník měl pravdu, ačkoliv ani on sám nevěděl, že mluví s princem, a ne nějakým sluhou. Karaba opatrně vyhlédl zpoza kamenného úkrytu. „Myslím, že jsme je setřásli. Pojď.“

Ačkoliv se princi nezamlouvalo to věčné komandování, nechal se zavést k potoku, smyl si z obličeje černé šmouhy a pak začal hltat vodu. Zarazil se. Loupežník jenom stál opodál a pozoroval ho.

„Nemáš žízeň?“

„Proč?“

„Protože já jsem uběhl kus cesty a mám ji.“

„Tak nemel a pij.“ odbyl ho Karaba. Jakub chvíli váhal a pak se znovu ozval. „Je to kvůli tomu šátku?“

„Ty se ptáš, jestli nemám žízeň kvůli šátku?“

„Ptám se, jestli se bojíš ukázat obličej a proto nepiješ.“ Loupežník mlčel. „Zrovna jsi mi zachránil život, mohl bys mi trochu důvěřovat.“ zamručel Jakub. Karabu ta stížnost zřejmě nevyvedla z míry.

„Neber si to osobně, já nedůvěřuju nikomu z hradu.“ zamručel zpátky. Jakub se ani nepohnul z místa. „Co je?“

„Nebudu se dívat.“ naléhal Jakub. Oba chvíli stáli nepohnutě. Pak si Karaba zhluboka povzdechl a jakoby unaveně pronesl: „Když ti to udělá radost…“ Máchl rukou v otáčivém pohybu. „Otoč se.“

Jakub se k němu poslušně otočil zády. Slíbil, co slíbil, a tak se nedíval. Slyšel, jak si Karaba svléká rukavice a pak začvachtala voda.

„Co když se přece podívám?“ zeptal se a na tváři mu zahrál lehký úšklebek. Během jedné hodiny s loupežníkem přeskákal po střechách jako kamzík, utekl před svými vojáky a teď k němu stál zády, aby se mohl napít. Nutno uznat, že v té situaci nemohl nepokoušet štěstí se smíchem.

„Zastřelím tě.“ odpověděl Karaba a navzdory všem očekáváním byl i v jeho hlase znát žert.

„Takže to nebyla jediná bambitka, kterou máš?“

Ticho.

„Promiň.“

„Tys mi ji nesebral.“

Další ticho.

„Třeba bych ti ji mohl sehnat zpátky.“ ucítil poklepání na rameno a tak se otočil. Karaba byl nečekaně blízko. Musel se pohybovat jako přízrak, neslyšel ani jeho dech, natož kroky.

„Proč bys to dělal?“ zeptal se s šátkem zase na obličeji. Chtěl se mu podívat do očí, ale klobouk měl jako na potvoru stažený nízko.

„Protože ty jsi pomohl mně, já pomůžu tobě.“

„Začal sis, nemáš mi co splácet.“ Jakub se nenechal odbýt.

„Vracíš lidem peníze, každý den. To ti nemůžu splatit nikdy.“ Chvíli jen tak stáli a dívali se jeden na druhého. Pak Karaba napřáhl pravici.

„Bez tebe bych byl asi ve vězení. Díky.“ Jakub s ní potřásl.

„Není zač.“ Pak se pustili a další chvíli se na sebe dívali. Jak se rozloučit s loupežníkem…?

Jenže najednou z Karaby vypadlo: „Sbohem!“ a byl v prachu. Jakub se díval, jak mizí mezi stromy.

Co to krucinál bylo?

(Mimochodem, nikdy jsem po střechách neskákal a nevím, jak moc je to věrohodné. V případě zkušeností dejte vědět).

Princ z Popelky je BI

protože se do ní zamiloval už když byla lovec

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