Chapter 3.17 — Not a Laughing Matter

No one has a monopoly on courage. Everyone is scared of something at some point. It’s how you deal with it that shows your mettle.

                                                                                               Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

 

Fourth of Striving 1142, Early Afternoon (Three days ago) 

Merck stared at the fraylian. He knew what it was immediately. He’d seen them, mostly from a distance, in traveling shows. He didn’t spent a lot of time in the wild, where they roamed. Merck had been a creature of towns and cities. Much hard to swindle people in the wilderness, or hide in the crowds for that matter. Regardless, the thing approaching was dangerous—a man eater. Merck drew his dagger and looked down at it. It felt wrong in his hands. He wasn’t some Warrior or Soldier or Assassin. He had been a Swindler, now he was a Priest. What would George ask of him in this situation? He had no idea.

He had to stay on the plate. Maynor had made that clear. How was he going to fight this thing while remaining on the plate. All he wanted to do was run. Merck risked a glance back at Maynor, engaged with the air elemental. He watched as it threw Maynor into the blackened floor. If he got off the plate now, he’d kill Maynor. Maybe at Maynor’s high level he could survive a bit of burning, but this was magical fire. Surely it would kill him. And if Maynor died, Merck would die. That much was obvious.

But how the hell was he going to stay on the plate and kill a fraylian. He had no idea. It wasn’t like he’d expected to survive the dungeon at Level 2. That didn’t bother him—not really. He hadn’t done much with his life. No one would miss him. But now, he was finally doing something important. Something that had value. And he had promised to make it up to the Misfits. No. He couldn’t die. Not here. Not now.

The fraylian wasn’t in a rush to reach him. It was stalking him, he realized. Slow, steady progress. All green and mottled. He’d been told once that it helped them hide in tall grasses and jungles. Not that there were any jungles where he’d lived. Still, there it was. It was beautiful in a way, if you painted it and shrunk it down it was just a house cat. They liked to play with toys. And today’s toy was a former Swindler turned priest.

It seems almost confused at his lack of panic. Merck was a bit confused too. But, of course, it couldn’t know that he had to stay on the plate. So he stood there and waited.

“Hey, did anyone ever tell you you’re very green?”

The fraylian paused when he spoke, then continued toward him. Merck considered his options. He didn’t have any. Not really. Try to kill it with a dagger while staying on the plate. Ludicrous.

“I’m probably not worth the the effort. I’m very low level. Not much to brag about if you kill me. That other guy, he’s a much higher level than me. Bet you can’t kill him.”

The fraylian paused again. It probably didn’t expect this reaction. Well, Merck couldn’t fight, but he could talk. It was all he was really good at.”

“I don’t suppose we can come to a compromise.” Merck unslung his pack. “I have some trail rations here. We could be friends, you know. I could scratch you behind your ears, and we can sit by the fire at night. We could…”

The beast had had enough, apparently, for it started moving again, faster now. And Merck knew that words were not going to save him. How could he stay on the plate and save Maynor, and kill a fraylian with a dagger. It would kill him for sure. Unless…

It was on him them, and he has no further time to think. No time to consider the one desperated plan that had popped into his head at the last minute. Insanity. And maybe, just maybe, his only chance to survive. With his dagger in his right hand he held out his left forearm like an offering. The fraylian didn’t hesistate. It took the bait and closed it’s jaws around his forearm. That’s when Merck struck. He plunged the dagger into the side of its neck. He’d expected it to die more quickly, but it didn’t. Instead it pulled, and and Merck felt himself moving forward—off the plate. He wanted to look back at Maynor to see if he’d made it to his feet and gotten off the blackened area, but he couldn’t. The pain in his arm hit him then, and it was agonizing. He pulled the dagger out and stabbed again. And then, he felt his feet leave the plate and screamed.

*

Maynor fought a careful battle against the air elemental. This one had been different from his fight with the water elemental. The air ele was much faster and had a powerful knockback. Not quite what he wanted to be fighting in a place with flame walls. The last toss had thrown him into the danger zone, and he’d rolled out of it as fast as he could. He could feel the heat on his back as he rolled away from it, and knew that Merck had failed, though whether that was a temporary situation or a permanent one, he couldn’t determine at this time. His focus had to be on the air elemental. Still, if Merck died, he was finished too. He would be trapped between two walls of flame that he couldn’t cross. Because of his level, he wouldn’t starve to death. He’d exist in that place, alone, unable to proceed forward or go back, until another adventurer made it far enough to finish the room. With the way this dungeon entrance was hidden, that might not happen for a very long time. No, failure here was not an option. He needed Merck to play his part in solving this room, so they could continue.

Maynor turned and used his leap skill to get to Merck, but he hadn’t needed to. The fraylian was dead. Merck had killed it. Yet he lay unmoving. Maynor glanced back at the air elemental.

“Merck, talk to me.”

“I’m bleeding.”

“Try to hold your cloak over it, but get back on the plate while you do it.”

“Okay.”

The air elemental had caught him again. Damn, it was fast. Maynor had to draw it away from Merck now. He could check Merck’s wounds after it was gone. He saw and felt the flame wall ahead of them vanish, and knew Merck had made it onto the plate. Then he rolled past the air elemental and ran for the lever.

He had no intention of pulling the lever till the elemental was dead, and he’d checked on Merck. The creature couldn’t know that, however, and he suspected it had been summoned specifically to prevent the lever from being pulled. If its behavior was any indication, that was the case, because it came directly for him. Maynor readied his sword and charged, only veering at the last second, so he was now behind it. Or was he? Elementals like this didn’t seem to have a front or back. It didn’t matter. That was the strategy now. Back and forth, dodge close, get a hit, move away, repeat. Over and over.

In a fight with an intelligent opponent, this wouldn’t have worked, but elementals didn’t have brains—they had instructions. They didn’t even have a sense of self-preservation. So he kept doing it, and though he was already getting tired—the heat was affecting him far more than it should have—his progress kept him moving.

When it finally gave up that last bit of magic that was the only thing keeping it together, it just faded as if it had never been there. Unlike the water elemental, it left nothing behind. It was made of air and had returned to the air. Maynor ran to Merck, who sat on the pressure plate.

There was blood. Enough of it. Fortunately, Merck’s thick cloak was absorbing some of it, but Maynor peeled it back to check the wound.

“We need a healing potion which, unfortunately, Ressssen has.”

Merck nodded. “Or we need to get back in touch with George.”

“How are you feeling?”

Merck chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Honestly? Proud. I did it. I mean I didn’t stay on the plate, but I killed that thing. Is this what real adventurers feel like?”

Maynor grinned. “My friend, you are a real adventurer. This is a story you’ll be able to tell for the rest of your life. You killed a fraylian with a dagger. That’s no small feat at your level.”

Maynor could see the pride in the Priest’s eyes. Merck looked at the dead forest cat.

“I can’t believe it. We’re alive.”

“We are, thanks to you. You realize, when we get out of here, you can say you saved my life?”

Merck looked surprised. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did. But we’re not out of the woods yet. How’s your arm?”

“Mangled?”

Maynor laughed. “Hardly. But it’s definitely hurt. Try not to use it. I’m going to go pull the lever. My guess is the earth elemental will attack. I’ll be close enough when I pull the lever to aggro it. The frost wall should be disabled, but I can’t get through the flames once you leave this plate. So…I’ll cross into the safe zone first, over the blackened area. You wait on this plate till I’m safe and then hurry to stand on the next one. Does that make sense?”

“So the first pressure plate only controlled the first flame wall, which had no corresponding lever. That makes sense. The second pressure plate controlled the flame wall to the next area. We just have to stay ahead of it. We’re almost there.”

“Almost. One earth ele and we’re free. Just remember, Merck. Last time you stepped on a plate, the fraylian appeared. We have no idea if that will happen again. The advantage we have is that the earth elemental will be slower than the air elemental, so I might be able to help you this time.”

Merck relaxed. “Good. Because I don’t think I have much left in the tank.”

Maynor put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re an adventurer now. You’ll do what you have to do. It’s what adventurers do.”

“Are you a member of the guild?”

“I am, but I’m not registered as a part of any team, and I don’t think anyone would call me an adventurer.”

“Then why are you in the guild?”

“Because there are mutual benefits. They get a member inside the palace, I get protection of the guild, should I need it. It’s more of a business relationship born of mutual respect.”

Merck seemed to think about it. “I see. You’re like an honorary member. Same skills, different endgame.”

“Yeah, if you like. Look, I know you want to rest, but we can’t put this off. Are you ready?”

“If I said no, would it stop you from pulling the lever?”

“Not even a little.”

Merck sighed. “Okay then.” He forced himself to his feet, pulled his dagger and stood ready. “I’m ready. Good luck.”

Maynor was already moving toward the lever. In theory, the frost wall would go down. Merck would abandon his pressure plate. The flame wall would reappear, he’d walk through it and stand on the pressure plate, taking down the last wall, the one barring them from the room’s exit. Maynor didn’t think it would be that easy.

He approached the lever, and it was like the last one. He slowly pulled it all the way down and looked back. The frost wall had already faded by the time he’d turned. He waited in the safe strip, between the wall of flame behind him and the black strip ahead. The earth elemental was already on the way.

“Go stand on the next plate.”

“On it.”

Maynor unsheathed his sword and waited. And then, he heard it…laughter. Hysterical laughter.

“Dear gods!”

“What is it?” shouted Merck.

“One of the most dangerous creatures ever created. Merck, put your dagger away, you can’t kill it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s far more dangerous when it’s dead.”

*

Merck had been looking at Maynor, but now turned his attention to the rest of the room. He spotted it immediately, whatever it was. It was a large bird in the model of flightless birds. Birds that ran. He’d heard of one called a moa, but had no real experience to identify one from the other. Regardless, the specimen slowly making its way toward him only had one leg and seemed to move by hopping.

Its body was a riot of colors, and it had a long neck, upon which rested a human head, painted as a clown, that seemed to do nothing but laugh.

Far more dangerous when it’s dead? What the hell did that mean? He was going to ask, but Maynor had already engaged the earth elemental. So, no time for a protracted conversation.

“Can it hurt me?”

“Not as long as it remains alive.”

So, don’t kill it. That’s a relief—and well within his range of talents. How good are you at not killing things? That’s my specialty. Merck chuckled. He wondered if his mind was working right, or if he’d lost too much blood. He wondered if his arm was still bleeding or if it had stopped. He wondered what the thing would do when it reached him.

“Stay on the plate, and just ignore it, no matter what it does.”

“Ignore it?” Merck took another look at it. How the hell did you ignore something that looked like that? It looked like some kind of chaos demon. He’d never heard of or seen anything like it.

So he watched and waited and stood his ground, hoping against hope that there were no more surprises in this room.

*

Maynor wasn’t having much trouble with the earth elemental. It was stronger than either the water or air elemental—physically stronger, but it was also slower, which meant it could hardly ever land a blow. This kind of fight suited Maynor, who depended as much on agility as strength. Moving, dodging, backing away, leaping forward, this was Maynor’s preferred style of combat, though he knew many, of course. But this was when he was most at home, never giving the enemy an opening to strike, rather than trying to block an attack that was already on the way. It was how he’d defeated the air elemental, and now how he’d defeat the earth elemental. Stay away, dodge in, attack and get the hell out. Move around it, past it, block when he had to, but dodge when he could. Some people said he was more of a dancer than a fighter. It never offended him. Footwork was important in combat.

The earth elemental was larger and more powerful than the others, which meant it took longer to kill, but Maynor had the endurance of a Level 24 Warrior. This was relatively easy compared to what he’d already faced, which didn’t seem right. This wasn’t how dungeons were designed. That meant there was more to come.

When he dispatched the creature, he made his way toward Merck, instead of the switch. The giggler was hopping up and down in front of the priest, and occasionally ramming into him, trying to knock him off the plate. Not really a problem. Gigglers weighed almost nothing.

“What the hell is this thing?”

“It’s called a giggler, and as you’ve probably guessed, it’s not a natural creature. It’s a contagious curse.”

Merck turned to look at him. “Contagious. This thing has been touching me for the last five minutes.”

“Not contagious like that. As long as it’s alive we have nothing to worry about. But when it dies it sort of explodes and releases spores into the air, that turn others into gigglers if they breathe them in. We don’t want to kill it. We need to keep it alive.”

“Oh,” said Merck. “It’s a trap. And I suppose being followed around by one makes stealth impossible.”

Of course that’s what a former Swindler would think. “Yes, that’s true. As many people die from monsters that come to the giggler’s laughter as from the giggler itself. And of course, if the monster attacking happens to kill the giggler in range of the party fighting it, most of them will end up becoming gigglers too.”

Merck’s face went white. “That’s horrifying.”

“Yes, so we’re stuck with this one, and I haven’t pulled the lever yet, but I think we should be ready. I don’t think this room is done with us yet. We’ll do the same thing, I’ll pull the lever, which should take down the last frost shield. You get off the pressure plate, which should bring the flame wall between us back up. You walk through the flames to the new pressure plate, which should take down the last flame wall. Once that goes down, if it goes down, I’ll walk to the exit door, and you can join me. That should be the room.”

“But you don’t think it will be.”

“No. I think the worst is yet to come.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“It’s time to bind your wound better, now that we’re not fighting. I’m sure it’s still bleeding, though I don’t know how bad. The blood is soaking through your cloak.”

Merck looked down. Maynor was already tearing strips from a cloth he’d taken from his pack. He pushed back the sleeve of Merck’s cloak, poured strong liquor on it, which he’d brought just for occasions like this, and started binding the wounds.

Merck sighed. “At least I won’t bleed to death.”

Maynor nodded. “I don’t think anything major was hit. I know it looks like a lot of blood, but I’ve seen many injuries worse than this. I’m actually surprised it’s not that bad. Even with the thickness of your cloak I’d have expected more damage.”

“Well, I did plunge a dagger into its neck as soon as it latched on.”

“That makes sense. It probably loosened its grip. Merck, did you let it bite you on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” Maynor looked at Merck with newfound respect. It’s one thing to fight off a fraylian at his low level, it’s another to offer himself up as a sacrifice. The move had probably saved his life. More and more, he could see that he would have to reform his opinion of the Priest.

“I’ll go pull the lever, wait for you to get on the pressure plate, then head to the door. When I’m safe, you can join me there.”

“Got it. I’ll be glad to see the back of this room.”

“Be ready, Merck. I don’t think this is over.”

With those words, Maynor walked to the lever and pulled it. The last frost shield came down. Merck stepped off the pressure plate he was on, reviving the wall of flame between him and Maynor. Then he walked through it and stepped on the pressure plate. The giggler followed on Merck’s heels, laughing and hopping. The final fire wall came down and Maynor, as planned, walked to the door, which had opened when the wall came down. It was in the center of the wall just as the first had been. Just an ordinary looking door. What could go wrong? Merck vacated the plate, the flame wall popped back up and the giggler again followed him, both of them immune to the heat. In a way it was good that the giggler was focusing on Merck, since Maynor would have to do the fighting, and if Merck could stay out of it, the giggler would be less likely to die.

Maynor braced himself. His intuition told him that this wasn’t over. He drew his sword. For a moment, nothing happened, and then, everything changed.

A greater fire elemental entered the room through the now-open door, and made a beeline directly towards Merck.

It was as fast as the air elemental had been, and Maynor had expected it to attack him, the closer target. But, no, it was heading right for Merck—and the giggler. Under no circumstances could it be allowed to touch the giggler.

Almost without thinking, Maynor used his leap skill to propel himself into the elemental, demanding its attention. Unfortunately, its entire body was composed of fire and as he passed through it, Maynor felt the heat sear his skin. When he turned again to face it, he realized that he was burning.

“Go back through the flames!” shouted Maynor. “Keep the giggler away!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Then the fire elemental was on him.

Maynor struck fast and furious. He dodged. He rolled. If he’d been a lower level, he’d already be dead, but he didn’t stop. So much pain. So much heat, but Merck was counting on him. Maynor used every skill he had. He increased his attack speed, increased his defense, dulled his pain (the only thing that allowed him to continue). And bit by bit he wore down the elemental, pulling it back away from Merck and the giggler.

The earth elemental may have been a slower fight, but this one felt longer. The pain, even with his buffs, was excruciating. Maynor fought the battle of his life, limited by how far he could move in the narrow aisle, and terrified of being burned even worse. He fought around the creature, several times barely escaping disaster. Once he almost got caught between the elemental and the wall; another time, he passed so close to the flames that the heat almost made him pass out, something he didn’t think could happen to him anymore.

Merck must have realized his predicament, because he got back on the old plate, and the wall of flames beside him went back down. Maynor breathed a sigh of relief, and pressed his attack, now able to move a bit more freely, though he never stayed long in the blackened area, just in case Merck had to vacate the plate.

And still the battle felt endless. When the elemental finally dissipated, Maynor lay down on the stone floor and rolled, in case he was still aflame. Not that it mattered that much, he felt like he was still on fire. So much pain, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled not toward the door, but away from it.

“With me. Now!”

Merck didn’t question. He stepped off the plate, but the room, now that the elemental had been defeated, didn’t reset. Even the original firewall was gone. They’d solved the puzzle and the room, for now at least, was just a giant empty stone chamber. The plates and levers remained, the black bands hadn’t gone anywhere, but the danger, as far as he could tell, was passed—most of the danger, anyway.

Maynor continued away from the door all the way to the far wall, through which they’d originally entered, even though the metal plate that had marked that entrance was gone. The giggler followed close behind, laughing and hopping. Maynor couldn’t imagine anything on earth being more annoying. Maybe Leata on a bad day.

When they reached the far wall, without warning, Maynor grabbed Merck and used his leap skill. The Priest yelped, but Maynor ignored him. When they landed, it was right before the door to the next room. Maynor pushed Merck through while grabbing the dagger off his belt. The giggler, caught off guard, had turned and started toward them.

Maynor didn’t take the time to aim. He used a skill. He threw the dagger hard at the giggler and didn’t wait for the hit. The small explosion that would release the spores had already started when he leapt into the next room, slamming the door on the way through. He landed hard and cursed.

Merck was on him in a second.

“Are you all right?”

Maynor nodded and forced himself into a sitting position, taking stock of the new room. The new empty room. The new room with no exits at all, except the one through which they’d entered—through a door leading back into a room now filled with giggler spores.

Merck hadn’t worked it out yet, but he would soon enough. Maynor sighed, and started moving. If they didn’t find a secret exit, their foray into the Soulsplit dungeon was over.

*

Seventh of Striving 1142, Morning

Dahr sat in Eldiss’s cart, which stood in the middle of a large, flat raft, crossing the waters surrounding an island called the Brotherhood, on its way back to mainland Aestra. They’d make landfall on the east coast of Far Andara. He sat on the cart because that was where Eric’s body had been laid out, and Dahr missed him—his brother… his friend… his prince. Even though Dahr himself was a prince, he couldn’t stop thinking about him that way. Eric had been the center of his world for two years. Now his soul was off in Xarinos, and Dahr was stuck with his inanimate body. He had so much he wanted to tell Eric and he would, when he finally made it to Xarinos—but that was still weeks away, if not months.

Dahr thought about the journey ahead and realized how little he knew. He stood and jumped off the cart. Striker was staring off into the distance. He had no idea what she was looking at, but he joined her anyway.

There was nothing to see but sky and sea. And the sky was big. Really big. How did that work? How could the sky be bigger here than it was anywhere else? Wouldn’t the sky always be the same size?

He thought about Rish and realized that wasn’t the case. In Rish, he lived in a palace in a city surrounded by gigantic stone walls. And on three sides, holding the capital city of Twyl as if in a warm embrace, was the Horn mountain range. Dahr had never seen the whole sky from Rish, only the top part of it. Being here in the open made him feel exposed in a way being in the city never had. He tried to remember the sky in Death’s Doorstep but couldn’t. He didn’t remember looking up that much, though he got the impression it was usually more gray than blue. Why was that?

Was it because Death’s Doorstep had been defeated by the Undead King fifteen years earlier and all but destroyed? Maybe no one had a reason to look up. Maybe we all kept our eyes on the ground out of shame or fear. Dahr shook himself. This felt suspiciously like depression, and he was better than that.

Striker was looking at him now but didn’t speak, so he did.

“So if we wanted to get to Melar, how would we go about it?”

Striker nodded, as if expecting the question. “Well, there’s a small port north of the landing where the Brotherhood Ferry docks. We might be able to catch a ship there north to Melar, but not with the kreve. No one will take a pack of kreve aboard their ship.”

“Oh. That’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be. I can take the kreve north on foot. In theory I’d reach Melar before you will. I’ll head straight for Glanx, the port city you’ll most likely dock in.”

“Really?”

“I don’t have to sleep or eat, nor do the kreve. And it’s a straight shot north with relatively little hostile terrain to slow me down. I can make my way straight there, unlike a ship, which has to follow the coastline. I’ll just find a place far enough from the city to wait until you arrive. Obviously I can’t take a pack of kreve into the city. The only question is how will you find me?”

Dahr chuckled. “Striker, I found you running through the countryside a hundred miles away. The last problem you’ll ever have is me being able to find you.”

Striker’s eyes grew thoughtful, and Dahr could sense a tinge of fear, but she did an admirable job of keeping it off her face. “Right, that’s a thing, isn’t it? I’ll stay well outside the city. Come find me when you get there. I’ll wait.”

“I wonder what we’d have done if I didn’t have access to my powers.”

Dahr hadn’t really expected Striker to provide an answer, but that was her all over. She just kept surprising you.

“Eldiss and Aisha could find me too—through the Undead Queen.”

“What? How does that work?” 

“The Undead Queen, like the Undead King, is connected to all reborn, and can talk to any of us individually. She’d be happy to pass on a message.”

“She would? Why?”

“Because I know her. And she knows Eldiss and Aisha, through me at least. We’re sort of her people.”

“Her people.” Dahr let the words float in the air for a moment. “You serve her? Instead of the Undead King?”

“Serve is a strong word. She’s not a human queen. But we like her quite a lot.”

“I see. So you and she have an arrangement. And she can talk to any of the reborn. Does that mean the reborn are like the Brotherhood?”

Striker was already shaking her head. “Not quite. The Brotherhood has a collective mind, more like the chirkir do, I think. But the reborn aren’t connected to each other—they’re connected to Xarinos itself.”

“What does that mean?”

“The land, Dahr. The soil. The very ground we walk on when we’re there. That’s Xarinos. I’m not really connected to the Undead King. I’m connected to Xarinos. So is every reborn. The Undead King and Queen can use that to contact any of us, because they can exploit Xarinos on a deeper level than the rest of us. So Eldiss and Aisha wouldn’t have been able to find me directly, but the Undead Queen always can. And they can always talk to her. Anyway, none of this is necessary, because of you and your crazy powers. So you just have to get to Trilsk and pick up Chari, then come find me. I’m sure I’ll get there first.”

“Okay,” said Dahr, thinking. From Glanx they had to get to Gloomhearth, the other continent. Which meant taking a boat.

“Striker, you said no boat would take a pack of kreve on board. How are we going to get to Gloomhearth with you and the kreve if no one will take them?”

Striker thought about it. She didn’t answer for a long time. “First of all, Glanx is a much bigger port than the one in Andara, which I don’t even know the name of. It’s just a small fishing village where sometimes larger ships replenish supplies. But even if we can’t find a ship in Glanx, we can find the palace in Trilsk. Presumably we have to go there anyway, to pick up Princess Chari. I’d wager that King Leonid can get a ship to take us.”

Dahr looked puzzled. “King Leonid is in Rish.”

Actually, said George in his head, he’s not. Not anymore. He’s on his way to Trilsk. He’ll be back in his palace long before you get there.

Dahr held up a hand to indicate to Striker that he was talking to George. “And why would he help us?”

Because Iorana, his goddess, is going to tell him to.

“Why would Iorana want to help us get to Xarinos?”

You already figured this out, Dahr. You figured out Sheba wants you there. Iorana and Sheba are on the same team in this. All the gods are.

Dahr frowned. “I don’t understand this at all.”

So? Why do you have to understand everything, Dahr? You’re just a mortal. You’re supposed to have gaps in your knowledge.

Dahr raised his eyebrows. “And what about you? Do you have holes in your knowledge?”

More than you’ll ever know.

Dahr’s frown deepened. “You’re not a god, so I guess it’s not blasphemy when I tell you you’re a pain in my ass.”

Telisian chuckled but didn’t speak again.

“Right, George just confirmed that the gods want us in Xarinos, but he won’t tell me why.” 

Striker looked interested. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me more about George.”

Dahr shrugged. “I’m not sure I know much more about him than you do.”