Slubberdegullion

The sun has been bidding its adieu. The last flickering rays scatter over the sky in a shade of tangerine with patches of deep crimson tiny bits. The faint outline of a glorious full moon peeps from the heavy cloud, struggling to prove its existence before the stubbornly fierce sun. Still, the careless wind is soothingly freezing. 

Despite it being a calm day, it does nothing to soothe the raging tornado swirling ferociously within me. My hands are still shivering from the after-effects. 

What now? 

The question has been bothering me for more than twelve hours. The faint sensation of a coming headache thrashes my temple. 

The lack of an answer thereof is riling me up. I am not only restless, I feel instead…well what was it that the birdbrained royal teacher used to address me at every petty mistake. I have endured endless trauma in learning it, I ain’t missing what might be the only chance to use it. It started with F–nope, not the censored words, dirty souls. 

It went like…flocci…umm…yeah, it was something like that. Fluffynauffy? Floccinauci? Oh, yeah! Floccinaucinihilipilification! 

Got it! I am a genius. Where the hell is my medal? My royal teacher used to call me a divine example of floccinaucinihilipilification aka the action or habit of anticipating something as worthless. The moron used to call me worthless? Me? Sweet little me?

The spelling, phonetic transcription, and syllable structure to memorise it gave a head of three days initially but now I am at least proud that I have put it to some better use. And why, you may ask, do I feel this dreadful uneasiness, quirkiness, unsettledness?  

Thanks for the concern, it ain’t just: Jared is dead meat, buried deep in one of the hilly slopes of Sores-On Hills. Beaten, bitten, and departed. And We have got everything to do with it. 

‘Woohoo! There ain’t anything as satisfying as earning your own money and spending it at your whims and desires.’ After killing the giver you mean? Julie jumps on her feet. A self-content smile radiates from her oval face. Her blonde hair flirted with the slow wind, flying at every right angle. 

‘After working eighteen hours a day? Right.’ Sierra replies with an eye roll. For a female personality such as hers, she looks rather gloomy on her payday. Maybe I am not the only one chewing nails post-murder. Maybe she has as good a conscience as I do. 

As if you regret killing that slubberdegullion rat at all. Keep fooling others around, Lizzie. You are rather concerned over the evidence and how you would cover it up than who his neck snapped seconds before he died. You are afraid that your disguise would be pierced and you would be dragged by the hair to the middle of the square where you would be publicly raped by an army of warriors and a certain Alpha before your worthless ass would be executed and your head would be put on a spike. 

Umm…that was rather polite and concerning. My heart! *Sob* I am truly, deeply flattered at your display of compassion, Your Highness. I am touched by the soul. I smack the bitch. 

‘Well…that’s the best we could get in three years. You know how useless and good for nothing we were at the time of…’ Ahem, you mean floccinaucinihilipilification? Hehe…I am rather enjoying using it when I finally can. Julie’s voice trails off. She gulps a bile, and blinks the moisture in her eyes, but continues walking. 

What surprises me isn’t her insensitivity. Nope. But the fact that no one. I say, no one wants to talk about Jared. They aren’t even taking his name. Am I the only one freaking out?

‘War.’ I pause sternly. My back stiffens in a pose meant for serious discussions such as this. ‘You can say it. It ain’t gonna give them any power or something. It was there. We lost it. Let’s just accept it.’ The huge waves of the ocean crash on the surface loudly. 

Thank you, dear ocean. At least you understand me. But…

A ship has recently arrived after a trip of more than a week. The staff welcomes the captain and the staff warmly while the fishermen, traders, and buyers create chaos. All of them have all but a desire to get the best price for the ocean gems, fishes, and aquatic herbs enlisted for bidding. 

Duong relies heavily on the sea for its livelihood, despite it being a deadly business. Every year more than three ships sail themselves to wreck, snatching away the happiness of tens of households. Being a port town, it has hardly seen anything beyond lighthouses, vessels, and customs officers in aqua-blue uniforms. 

For traffic, it has vessels lined up at docks and containers at designated spots. Also, it smells like fish and shrimp.  

‘It can be way better than this. But they are used to it.’ I thought, once again losing myself in the soul of this town that has welcomed us with open arms in our formidable days of torture. My heart goes for its innocence and purity. We would have lost it long back if it had not been for Duong, Jared, and Murad. 

Now when Jared is as cold in his grave, we are left with Jeon Murad, the most popular character in Duong.

His persona is so amicable and respected that I or anyone else had barely heard him addressed otherwise but with his first name followed by an endearing suffix that varies from person to person.

The younger ones would call him Murad Hyung. The she-wolves prefer Oppa. The elderly people would address him, Murad Adeul, and people his age would often be heard calling him with different endearments. All in all, he is regarded and appreciated for his refreshing tea and the accompanying gossip at 45/B Hauz Khas, Duong, Chaitali. 

His popularity amongst the hardworking labourers isn’t earned in a day or two. The story is mostly told and most popular amongst the adventurous tales of sailors’ combat with the unforgiving fierce sea. 

It has taken him around ten-some years to establish himself in Duong. A decade of nothing but hard work, multiple businesses most of which failed (Only three flourished) plus a small cafe and a healthy number of connections with the officers of the port, Xiomara  (Madam of the Khanum: the most influential brothel of Chaitali),

and the tabloid delivery boy (who delivers newspapers early in the morning and in the afternoon and serves as a helper in the Rest House of Port in the remaining time).

Murad Oppa was eleven when he arrived in Chaitali in search of work. His father had died in his early thirties defending the Lycan Isaac and his mother was pregnant with a ninth pup. Being the eldest in the house, he had little choice but to crush his dreams underneath the overbearing burden of responsibilities.

During the early years of miserable poverty and struggle, he used to perform odd jobs at various places— a sweeper in Khanum, where he was later promoted to a janitor. A shrimp cleaner when the Khanum was raided and temporarily closed on the grounds of minor sex slavery. A car cleaner for a rich vampire from the Middle East. A fetcher when the said vampire was arrested in a high-profile trafficking case, and a beggar when he could not find anything else to do.

It was all until the day he decided he had had enough and rented the same tea stall that he has turned into a cluster cafe today. He started his business with the help of Noona Xiomara, whose adopted daughter later tied the knot with Murad Oppa and became a family.

In the next ten years that followed, Murad Oppa

had it all—a house, a mate, and pups.

Oppa’s

influential customers knock in the morning after spending a pleasurable night at Khanum and fill him up with insider news. They’d be generous in leaving handsome tips in exchange for getting to know 'what's hot in the brothel, who had spent the night with whom, and who is the freshly brought virgin exclusively for the officer.

Murad Oppa, being an excessively talkative person, would vomit all the details in a snap without regrets. His ways could be unethical, but it is his way and he has earned it.

At least he did not kill his employer. My conscience reminds me.

He has become an inspiration for every new slave wolf that is thrown into the miseries of Duong. He also became a messiah by lending money to the needy at moderate rates. Presently, a man in his late forties, Murad isn't only famous but admired amongst his peers for his generosity. 

The man is a gem for a person in the heart. His aura is so divine that I often forget that he is a werewolf (therefore an enemy) and not a serpent who crawls. A year back when I stumbled my way into the Lane, Murad was the man who introduced me to Junky Jared and asked him to take me for a job.

‘He is lewd but pays honestly. Don't fall into his trap or you will end up in a hospital bed undergoing parturition.’ He had warned us. He helped me then. I am sure he will help me now.

‘You want to say?’ Sierra raises an eyebrow at me. All of them have stopped walking, have their signature hands in the chest pose, and are peering at me demandingly. 

Oops, I might have been thinking for a long time. I blink out of my daze before I slowly mumble.

‘Jared. I am scared.’ I hung my head slightly. ‘We will be busted soon.’

‘We have destroyed all the potential shreds of evidence. The surveillance is lying with him in pieces, fingerprints! Everything we can think of–’

But it still does not ensure anything. His family will report soon. They will not forever buy that he is on a cruise with his friends because he wrote a filthy note that barely matches his messy handwriting. The police will start inquiring. A deeper probe and people will puke it all out. He was last spotted with us!’

Silence. Tense silence hovers above us for a while. In the background, chaos and chatters continue. This time it doesn’t affect anyone as much as the dread of anticipation. 

My whispered yelling has finally knocked some sense in them. The Nagins are pondering over it. I watch as the colour slowly drains from their faces as reality sinks in. 

‘What should we do?’ Lily is the first to break the ice. Her ocean-blue eyes are wide with fear and uncertainty. 

Inhaling a deep breath, I mumble the inevitable. ‘It’s time we leave the town.’ 

‘Where and how?’ Julie raises her eyebrows almost instantly. She has figured this out already. ‘We cannot simply disappear. We are already acquaintances with more than half the Duong.’

‘Besides, we need at least two days to destroy any trace of our stay.’ 

‘Agreed. The wolves are conniving, cunning bastards. They will file a missing report. We will be all over the news in all police records. Besides, the sudden disappearance will raise questions.’ 

‘True, it has to be smooth and undetectable.’ The statement is granted unanimous approval. ‘Let’s plan something.’ 

___________________

‘You think it will work?’ Lily asks, eyeing the crowded cafe unassuredly. Her eyes narrow at Murad’s

guffawing face before it averts to me.

‘It will have to. We will have to make it work. She will be attending the event tomorrow. Tonight, there is a party. It is our chance. We have to convince Murad’ I speak through my teeth, looking around my surroundings.

The Duong is overcrowded with sweat and blood-reeking slaves and labourers—living their lives away in pathetic poverty. Their faces are sad and their stomachs are empty. Many of them could not secure work for the day—they were ashamed to show their faces to their mates and pups who awaited them with nothing but hope.

Their soul is singing lullabies of helplessness. No one is there to listen to their endless sorrows. They are vulnerable, tortured, tormented, and forced into a life they do not deserve.

I cannot believe it. I Empress Lizzy, am one of them. It’s the truth.

I can read the pain in their eyes, and listen to the upset tunes of their hearts because I have lived amongst them, with them, like them—I understand the curse of poverty.

I understand them—they are like my own people, which is why I no longer despise their whole race but a specific set of leaders who are responsible for all of it.

Many of them are pups, underage and innocent. They have lost their protectors in wars or other equivalently terrifying incidents. The state is responsible for their orphan status but they do not care. The state is responsible for compelling them into prostitution, slavery, begging, and criminal records.

They are unguided and uncared for. That filthy Alpha does not have any head in it. Why would he? He might be sleeping away in the warmth of his luxurious chamber. His food shall be served before he wakes up. A fresh pair of clothes will confine his delicate body.

I want to chop his head and hang it in the middle of the square.

It is not about my vengeance any longer. It is about Duong and its residents. It is about all other alike lanes where these poor creatures could not afford to eat a one-time meal even after a whole day’s hard work. 

I have to do it. My heart is crying. It is filled with agony. The town seems like a home. 

I nod in determination and inch at the cafe. 

There is gonna be an important night and only Murad can help us escape.

‘Let’s go.’ I shuffle on my feet, rubbing my palms together. Lily follows closely behind. Her twinkling eyes are filled with fear and uncertainty. 

Needless to say, she is terrified. Even though we have gone through the plan over and over again, our hearts are thumping like anything. Planning things on paper is one thing, bringing them to action and implementation is another. A single wrong move can spill the beans. It can ruin us and waste all the hardships we have been through the past three years. 

I let out a heavy breath that I did not know I was holding as I stood at the stall's entrance. I could hear the conversation loud and clear.

‘Did you listen to the assembly debate today?’ Murad asks his loyal-royal customers as he helps the waiter with ceramic cups

and offers it to a decently clothed wolf. Hope twinkles in his eyes. He is desperate to get more news on the subject so he could further use the facts in the tavern late at night when he’d boast about his ‘I-know-everything’ business.

Murad is the gossip monger of Duong. You would want to know ‘whose who’. You don't have to work hard. All you have to do is put a shimmering coin in Murad’s rugged palms, order a coffee

and deliberately start the topic. The wolf can talk nonstop for hours as long as one lends him ears.

I am wary of the statutes. I don’t care about a stupid assembly of wolves when I have a threat biting back in my ass.

Putting on a small sad smile, I charge in. ‘Good evening, Sir!’ I greeted him politely. 

I did not have to make the effort to pull the expression. It comes naturally. The years have been wasted on nothing. My grief can melt hearts.

Murad Sir turns around, and a slight smile graces his weather-beaten face. The wolf is ahead of his time—both in the sense of maturity and courage. His long beard is turning grey and his scalp is balding ever so slowly. His tan is enviously glittering, but the scar stretching over every other inch reminds us of privation since childhood.

 ‘Ah, Sarah. Sierra. Lily. Come! Come! Enjoying the weekend, eh? Isn’t it? You girls! I tell Mr Goi this generation gets money a second and is ready to spend it all another. They hardly have a sense of safety.’ The wolf bitched about the flaws in this generation for some more time as the three of us waited patiently. 

When Mr Goi finally slaps his empty cup on the table, I heave out a sign of relief. 

‘Child, you must save for bad times. I am not saying that you should not spend money on your desires. But save a little. Savings are harsh times, best friend. So, what would you like to have today? Today, I made this special ginger basil herbal tea. It is invigorating. Only for fifteen bucks a cup. Muxi made the cookies in fresh butter. We bought it from the pot last night. Fresh and delicious. Want to try it? Veno, go get three cups of today’s special and some cookies.' Murad chirps like a toddler, saying it all in one breath.

He looks around at the crowd and is pleased with the maths he has done in his head. Surely, the day is a good business. His mood reflects it all. I curse the customer for choosing a freakin weekend to fill in the place.

I don’t want Murad to be happy. He must be upset…grief-ridden. Saddest wolf on the planet. Is it too much to ask? His happy mood only warns me of the extra drama I will have to put up to earn his sympathy.

‘Thank you, Sir.’ Sierra and I squeal together, occupying the nearest vacant seat.

In a blink, Veno, a young werewolf in his early twenties, hands us the tea and cookies. He smiles, bows at us, and leaves in a snap—perhaps to serve another order. Atta, boy!

 ‘Sir,’ I pause, taking a sip of the tea. It is indeed invigorating, as Murad had claimed, and it does not suit the mood I want to be in. It is soothing to me. I don’t want to be soothed. I’d rather be punched. 

Murad

pauses counting the coins and looks at me expectedly. I try to put my best grief-stricken face—moisture in the eyes, whimpering lips, and vulnerability written all over the face.

 ‘Dear Moon Goddess! Are you okay, my child? What happened? Did Jared try to—? Did he—’

‘Sierra’s grandmother is dying. Her liver is barely working, her pancreas does not exist and she had donated her kidney to save her only pup that died of a heart attack. Such a waste of an organ! A vampire attacked her house last night. Broke it! Smash! Boom! Bhat! It stole every tiny penny of her savings. She just rang in and we immediately dashed to our messiah. You! Oppa.’ I squeeze some tears out of my eyes, palming his hand. 

I watch for his eyes to soften. Any emotional wolf would. It’s the most disastrous situation we could come up with. Besides, the natural instinct to be protective and heroic in a wolf won’t let the damsels in distress such as ours slip through his palm. It’s time Murad adds another page to his thick tales. 

We need money.’ I speak in a small voice, shifting my gaze to her lap. ‘She is the only family left after her mother eloped. She cannot lose her.’

I pause for a second, letting Murad absorb each word. His brows knitted together in concern and the joy had vanished. I dampen my eyes when he looks at me and sobs.

‘I can lend—’ No you cannot. We don’t need your filthy money. Okay, maybe we do. But not now!

‘Sir, can you take us to Khanum?  We have heard that a team is being sent to the would-be Luna’s welcoming party tonight at Khailay-Dee. Kathleen told us about her customers. They leave tips in the thousands. We can earn it in a month. How else can we afford the surgery? It will be a huge amount. We won’t be able to repay our whole life if we continue working at Tiffany’s. Khailay-Dee can help us.’

 On cue, Sierra bursts into hysterical sobs screeching like a dying hyena at the end. Almost immediately, Murad

crumpled on his knees to soothe her. He cooed wishes and positivity in her ears as he promised to introduce us to Senhora Xiomara right away.

Damn it! We can try it in movies.