The musician's right arm moved the bow across the violin in short, mechanical strokes. His left hand gripped the neck so tightly that his fingers barely moved. His shoulders were stiff, his back straight, and his head remained fixed in place. He looked as though he were struggling to move his own limbs.
People in the crowd began to notice.
Townsmen and demi-humans exchanged glances. Several turned toward the wooden crate in the middle of the courtyard, while others watched from a distance.
"You look exhausted up there," a tall townsman shouted, folding his thick arms across his chest. "You should take a break."
"Your arms are awfully stiff," a female demi-human called out. Her long, bushy orange tail swayed behind her, though it had begun to slow. Her ears tilted forward. "Are you feeling sick tonight?"
"You need a hot drink of water," an older merchant suggested from further back. He leaned on his walking stick. "You look frozen solid on that wooden box."
The person in the blue hat gave no response. He didn't turn toward them or even glance in their direction. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere ahead as the bow continued sliding across the strings, drawing out strained, uneven notes.
The conversations gradually died down.
"Sir," the townsman called again. He lowered his arms and held one hand out. "You need to get down from there. You're going to lose your balance and fall. You could seriously hurt yourself."
The musician continued playing.
His bow moved up, then down. His elbow barely changed position, and his wrist stayed locked as he dragged it across the strings. The notes came out unevenly, some too high and others so low that they barely resembled music. His left hand remained wrapped around the neck of the violin, its fingers holding the same position.
Lucid stood near the back of the crowd, watching the performer's arm move across the instrument. The sound carried through the cold evening air. Even with people shifting around him, he could hear the bow scraping against the strings.
'The music is slightly out of tune,' Alice remarked quietly inside his mind. 'The pitch is incorrect. The tempo is also failing.'
Another note came out wrong. The bow caught against the strings, producing an unpleasant screech that made a few people wince. The melody was becoming difficult to recognize.
"Hey!" the older merchant shouted. He raised his walking stick and pointed it toward the crate. "Stop playing that terrible noise! Get down before you collapse!"
The musician finally stopped.
The bow came to a halt, and his right arm dropped to his side. The violin remained tucked beneath his chin, his fingers still wrapped around it.
The crowd fell silent.
Several people looked at one another, waiting for the musician to say something. The tall townsman took another step forward. His mouth opened, but he seemed to reconsider. One hand hovered uncertainly in front of him.
The performer didn't look at him.
The townsman took another step, then stopped with his hand still raised. Nobody seemed willing to approach the crate now.
For a few seconds, the musician stood completely still. The bow hung beside his leg, and the violin remained pressed against his shoulder. Nobody spoke. The fountain splashed into its basin nearby, the only sound in the courtyard for now.
Then the musician's head suddenly snapped to the side.
A sharp cracking sound rang through the courtyard.
It sounded like a thick wooden branch breaking in half. The musician's neck bent at an impossible angle, leaving his head resting sideways against his right shoulder.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then the courtyard erupted.
The townsman screamed and stumbled backward, throwing both arms in front of his face. His back struck the people behind him, sending several stumbling into one another.
The female demi-human shrieked. She covered her face with both hands and dropped to her knees on the stone pavement. Her orange tail tucked tightly between her legs.
The older merchant gasped and clutched his chest. His walking stick slipped from his hand and struck the pavement before he sank down beside her.
People pushed in every direction. Those nearest the crate scrambled to get away, knocking into anyone standing in their path. Someone shouted for the others to move. Another person screamed as they were shoved aside. A few nearly fell over their own feet.
Within seconds, the crowd broke apart. Townsmen and demi-humans rushed toward the surrounding streets.
Lucid shoved his way through them.
"Move!"
He pushed a panicked townsman aside and hurried toward the crate. The man stumbled into someone behind him, caught himself, and continued running without looking back.
Lucid kept his eyes on the musician.
The sudden movement of the man's head had dislodged the blue hat. It slipped off and tumbled through the air before landing on the stone pavement.
Moonlight fell across the performer's face.
Lucid caught sight of it as he approached.
The eyes were wide open, staring blankly ahead. The skin was pale, and the mouth hung slightly open. The expression was unfamiliar, but Lucid knew the face immediately.
It wasn't the regional governor.
It wasn't the drunken bard.
His steps faltered.
He stared at the man on the crate, his eyes moving over the familiar features. For a moment, he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing. His mouth parted, but the name caught in his throat before he forced it out.
"Jake!"
His voice carried across the courtyard.
There was no answer.
A tall man caught his foot against the edge of the pavement and fell onto his hands and knees. He scrambled back up and hurried into a narrow alley.
A demi-human woman dropped her basket. Small fruits spilled across the cobblestones and rolled in different directions. She didn't stop to retrieve them. Her tail was tucked close to her back as she ran.
Near the fountain, the older merchant struggled to his feet. He reached for his walking stick, missed it, then abandoned it and hurried away, still clutching his chest. He disappeared into the darkness between the buildings.
Lucid remained where he was.
The stone fountain continued splashing into its lower basin. A cold wind passed between the buildings, carrying the smell of dust, old wood, and damp earth.
Lucid turned back toward the crate.
The figure was beginning to fall.
Its upper body tipped sideways, followed by the rest of its weight. Its arms hung straight down, and its stiff limbs made no attempt to catch the fall. The violin remained trapped against its chest.
Lucid moved.
He crossed the distance in three quick strides and reached out with both arms, catching the upper body just before it struck the cobblestones.
The weight nearly pulled him forward.
His boots scraped against the pavement as he bent his knees and shifted his balance. He tightened his grip around the figure's shoulders, then lowered it toward the ground, supporting its back against his knee.
The violin shifted between them. Its wooden body pressed awkwardly against the figure's chest, and Lucid moved one arm to keep it from slipping onto the pavement.
The figure was considerably heavier than he had expected. Even through the thick clothing, his hands could feel how little the body gave beneath his grip. He adjusted his hold, trying to find a better position, but the weight remained awkwardly distributed.
He pressed one hand against the figure's shoulder.
The jacket was made of rough, heavy wool. Beneath it, there was no familiar softness or movement. His fingers met something firm and unyielding. He shifted his hand and pressed again, testing the resistance through the fabric.
It reminded him of a wooden log wrapped in cloth.
He settled the body against his knee.
The blue hat had shifted during the fall. Its brim now covered most of the forehead and upper face.
Lucid reached up with his right hand and caught the edge. He lifted it carefully, pulling the hat away from the figure's head before tossing it onto the cobblestones beside his boot.
The moonlight revealed the face.
Lucid looked down.
The figure had exceptionally fair skin, smooth and pale beneath the night sky. There were no visible wrinkles or blemishes on the cheeks. Its eyes were wide open, displaying a bright blue colour that stood out against the lifeless complexion.
They stared straight upward.
He knew the face. There was no mistaking it, yet seeing Jake in this condition made the recognition difficult to accept. Lucid had called out his name, but the figure hadn't reacted. It hadn't even shifted its gaze toward him.
"Jake," he said again, quieter this time.
Nothing changed.
Lucid leaned closer. He studied the face from a different angle, looking over the forehead, cheeks, and area around the eyes. The mouth remained slightly open, and the bright blue eyes continued staring toward the night sky.
Something caught his attention on the left side of the scalp.
A large gash ran from near the crown of the head down toward the top of the left ear. The edges of the split skin were clearly visible beneath the moonlight.
Lucid lowered his head to get a better look.
The wound was wide and deep. He expected to find blood, perhaps even signs of damaged tissue beneath the torn skin. Instead, the entire area was dry.
Not a single drop had run down Jake's cheek.
Lucid's eyebrows drew together.
He followed the wound's length with his eyes, then briefly checked the other side of the head for any similar injury.
Lucid brought his left hand toward the wound. He placed his fingers carefully against its edges, keeping his other arm beneath Jake's shoulders to hold the heavy body in place.
For a moment, he hesitated.
The fountain continued splashing behind him.