CHAPTER TWO

The steward stared at him for one second longer. And then suddenly he changed. He clenched his jaw. The rings stopped shaking. He shook his head, as if he had made a decision. "Wait," he ordered, lowering his voice but cutting through the air. The guards stopped dead. The tips of the golden spears froze halfway to No Name's chest. The steward pointed at him with his finger. "Arrest this young man," he said. "Bring him before the great chief." The guards obeyed immediately. Two of them stepped forward and grabbed No Name by the arms. Not violently. Firmly. The spears lifted again, but now to the sides, escorting him. The golden gate opened all the way. Inside the marble shone even more. The smell of incense and hot gold wrapped around him. And they started leading him. Across the courtyard. Between columns thick as trees. Toward the big doors at the back, where the shadows of the palace swallowed the sunlight. No Name did not resist. He just walked. Looking ahead. They took him down long hallways. The cold marble came up over his boots. The columns passed one after another, thick as trees. The fountains were left behind and the sound of water faded. At the end of the hallway, two enormous doors. More gold than wood. Carved with suns and wheat stalks. The guards pushed them open. And there he was. The great chief. Sitting on a tall throne, carved in gold. His robe fell to the floor and gleamed with golden threads. Around him, servants with bowed heads. On the walls, trays of fruit that no one touched. Suddenly he was presented before the great chief of the town. The great chief already knew. They had already told him about the scandal. That a young man from the mud town had dared to touch his giant gate. And he showed himself very furious. He stood up from the throne. The gold on his clothes creaked. His eyes, hard, fell directly on No Name. The hall went silent. Only the shine of the lamps and the weight of the chief's fury filled the air. The silence in the golden hall was heavy. The great chief watched him from the top of the throne. Furious. No Name didn't lower his head. The guards' hands were still on his arms, but he raised his voice. Firm. It echoed between the columns. "I have come from so far away!" he said. The steward tensed. The servants weren't breathing. "My team and I visiting coast after coast," No Name continued. "And I found this coast so poor." He paused. His eyes swept the hall: the gold of the throne, the full trays, the lamps burning even though outside it was already daytime. And then he let it out, straight to the chief: "I cannot understand... how... why a coast so poor has a chief so rich." The impact of his words bounced off the white walls. The great chief gripped the golden armrests. Outside, very far away, the town still smelled of bread. And inside, the shine of the palace seemed to burn a little brighter. The great chief rose from the throne in one motion. The gold of his robe snapped. The lamps in the hall trembled. "Daring words?" he roared. His voice bounced off the white walls and the golden domes. He came down the marble steps, slowly. Each step thudded. The servants pressed their heads even closer to the floor. The guards tightened their grip on the spears. He stopped in front of No Name. So close that the smell of incense and hot gold burned his face. "You come from coast after coast?" he spat. "And you dare to come into my palace to accuse me of poverty?" He pointed with a ring-covered finger toward the windows. Beyond the gold, beyond the walls, you could barely see the dust of the town. "This coast is mine," he said, lowering his voice until it became a blade. "The mud, the water, the bread... all of it is mine. And if they are poor, it is because it must be so." His face twisted with rage. "Who are you to question the gold? Who are you to question me?" The hall fell silent again. All you could hear was the water from the fountains, very far away, and everyone's held breath. No Name held his gaze. He looked at the guards. "Take him away," the chief ordered, his voice trembling with fury. "To the dungeons. Let him cool off there with the mud he defends so much." Two guards stepped forward. They clamped their hands on No Name's arms. Their skin was hard, cold. They didn't hit him. They just held him and pulled. They took him out of the hall. The white marble was left behind. The columns thick as trees passed one after another. The smell of incense faded and it started to smell like damp stone and mildew. They went down spiral stairs. The sound of the spears echoed off the walls. Each step took them deeper under the palace, farther from the sun. At the bottom there was a thick wooden door, reinforced with black iron. A guard put in a big key and turned it. The screech echoed. They pushed it open. Inside it was dark. The air was heavy. Water dripped in a corner and the floor was cold. They shoved No Name inside. The door slammed shut with a dry bang. The bolt fell. Silence. No Name stood in the darkness. He could still feel the dust of the town on his boots. He could still feel the heat of the hall on his face. Upstairs, on the throne, the great chief settled himself. But he couldn't get the sentence out of his head. "A coast so poor... and a chief so rich." He squeezed the golden armrests until his fingers hurt. Outside, in the mud town, the lights of the ovens were being lit one by one. The smell of bread crossed the narrow streets and reached the white walls of the palace. And night finished falling over the coast. In the darkness of the dungeon, No Name leaned his back against the cold wall. He took the phone out from under his clothes. The screen lit up his dusty face for a second. He dialed. "Team," he said quietly, but firmly. "I'm in the great chief's great palace. I'm imprisoned." From the other side came the sound of hurried footsteps. Ten voices answered at once. No Name didn't raise his voice. He gave orders like he was standing in front of the golden gate. "Come to the palace," he ordered. "Use the modern technology we have. Put a stick of dynamite on the door. On the great gate of the palace. And you're going to blow it." He paused. You could hear his breathing mixed with the dripping water. "Go into the palace," he said. "Because it's time for that great chief to stop doing so much evil." He hung up. He put the phone away. Upstairs, the great chief was still sitting on his throne, not knowing that outside, in the darkness, ten shadows were already running toward the white walls with black boxes in their hands. And in the town, the ovens were still burning.