Chapter Seven

The guard was about to jump down into the canal, when the Hammer noticed a ladder. "Wait but a moment, there doth be a ladder over there. T'would be much easier for getting up and down. I do apologize for not seeing it earlier."

The museum guard just made some comment Sqweky couldn't quite make out. Sqweky was about to give up hope when he felt something pull on his leg. His good leg, thankfully. And he was pulled under the water's surface. He turned around and opened his eyes, but it was too dark to see, he could tell that someone was trying to get him to follow. And it disappeared into a hole. Sqweky, seeing no other options, followed. His broken leg didn't help any, though.

When Sqweky surfaced, and the air smelled of the usual rankness of the sewers. He looked around, there was enough light to see by, but he could see only a figure. In his pain, Sqweky forgot his usual arrogance and asked, with some fear in his voice: "Who's there?"

The figure seemed to move a little, and it was Surmas. "Sorry. When I get that way, I sometimes forget I can hide so well. Come on, there's a hole nearby."

"What?"

"A hole. One of those nice places in the sewers."

Sqweky didn't even grunt, just followed Surmas as best he could. Soon, though, the pain was unbearable, and he collapsed; wheezing in pain. Surmas said not a word, but put one of Sqweky's arms around his shoulder, and supported him the rest of the way. It was bearable enough for Sqweky.

When they got to the hole, Surmas let him down on the couch, (Sqweky vaguely recalled that the other hole had only chairs,) and went to the cupboard. He pulled out a healing potion and poured it down Sqweky's throat. Sqweky never liked the things; they tasted horrible, and always made him gasp for air. But he was thankful for this one nonetheless. All his bruises disappeared, but his leg was still broken. It felt... different... As if it has been set back in place, but the bone was still split in half. And he still hurt.

Surmas had somehow found the time to dry off and change into a dry suit. "Do you have the icon?" Sqweky gave him the bag, and Surmas immediately examined the contents. "Good, good. I'll get this off our hands within the hour. I'll be back with some more potions to get your leg better. Don't go anywhere." And then he left Sqweky alone. Sqweky used the silence to ponder his mistakes, and how to avoid them in the future.

Surmas ran. Not so much for fear of Sqweky, he should be just fine. But he ran because he didn't want this icon on his hands for long. When had still been a Keeper, he had studied records of many strange artifacts. If this icon was what he thought, the possessor would suffer through alternating extremes of bad and good luck. The bad luck was terrible, but the good luck was almost as bad. Most people would wonder why a person won every toss of a die, or 'just happen' to stumble on the dropped purse of a nobleman. Sqweky's horrible luck seemed just a coincidence, but then Surmas had shown up just in time to save him, and that healing potion worked faster than most do. And now, even running, Surmas hadn't been seen by anyone. Or heard. That worried him, when would the bad luck set back in? He hoped to be rid of it before then.

When Surmas arrived, the guard was waiting for him already. Surmas shivered. He ran up the stairs to Randolph's office, and the door was ajar. This good luck was nice, but Surmas would still be much happier when it was gone. Randolph was right there, waiting.

"Ahhhh, Surmas. You are back very close to the deadline. You have it I assume?"

Surmas tossed the icon on his desk. Randolph put the icon in a safe, very quickly. Obviously Randolph also knew of its danger.

"How do you wish to receive your payment? It is quit a sizable amount. In installments? Delivered somewhere?"

"I will take a portion now. And Sqweky and I will return in a few days for the rest. Is that good?"

"Of course. It is your money after all. I will leave notes for my secretaries informing them. And speaking of your apprentice, where is he?"

"He met with an accident, and broke his leg. He's recuperating, and I need to get him some healing potions."

"I hope he recovers well. Before you leave, Surmas, I have a question." Surmas stopped; this was unexpected. "It is merely a curiosity, but I still am uninformed as to how your apprentice came by his name."

Surmas sighed. "In all honesty, I don't know myself. I can only make assumptions. If you want certainty, you would have to ask him."

"Please, Mr. Surmas, entertain me with your theory; merely to tide me over."

"Well, I believe that it dates back to when I first found him. He was an orphaned street rat. He was, perhaps five years of age, I don't honestly know. But he was trying to steal some bread to eat. It was obvious he had done this before, because a group of kids a little older than him ran him down and started to beat him. From the taunts they called while chasing and after catching him, it was obvious they did this often. They probably had a deal with the vendors in that square, catching thieves for food. Well, before I could stop them from beating him too hard, the oldest boy, probably the leader, made a comment on how he kept squeaking.

"I threw off all the kids off of him and took him away. Found all the information on him I could. Just a few people knew he was an orphan, no more. And took him as my own. He gave himself that name, and never told me why. That is what I would assume. But, as I said before, I cannot be sure."

Randolph just looked at Surmas impassively. "Thank you, Mr. Surmas. If you have no other business, good night."