Fred frowned and tapped the bottom portion. "What does that it say?" Fred asked his literate companions.
Ned cleared his throat. "This is to inform the citizenry that a dreadful attempted murderer is loose on the city. He wears an aviator's uniform, but is actually a rogue castor. If you happen to see him please alert a guard or twinner. There is a five-hundred gold coin reward for information that leads to his arrest or death."
Fred cringed. "Or death?" he squeaked.
"Let's not ponder that choice, but they do seem adamant in capturing you however they can," Ned commented.
Pat glanced at Ti. "Where did you get this?"
"A group of guards came by earlier and gave this to be put up in the inn. I hid it from Hugh in case he should recognize the-um, young man here, and get greedy," Ti told her.
Pat scoffed. "That's a certainty," she muttered.
"We're very grateful for your kind help," Ned told Ti as he recoiled the poster. "Is there any way we can repay you?"
Ti frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "You can tell me where the real Crash is."
The group slowly turned their heads toward the sheet in the corner. Ti strode over and ripped off the sheet to reveal the sleeping and tied Crash. She knelt in front of him and looked him over. "Crash? Crash?" She glanced over her shoulder at the companions. "What's wrong with him?"
"Merely a small dosage of valum and a few knocks on the head. Nothing that will hurt him," Ned assured her. She frowned. "Permanently," he added.
"So he'll wake up?" she wondered.
"In a few hours, yes, but can't free him just yet. He needs to win the tournament," Ned replied.
Ti nodded at Fred. "He'll be Crash?" she guessed.
"Precisely," Ned told her.
"But why?" she asked him.
Ned smiled and shook his head. "We would rather not worry you, but trust me-" Pat snorted, "-when I pronounce that our intentions are completely honorable."
"Our methods are a little more dubious," Pat quipped.
Ti stood, brushed herself off and faced them. "All right. You've been honest with me, so I'll trust you."
Canto raised his eyebrows. "Trusting strangers? Are ya sure yer Sins' sister?" he asked her.
Ti smirked and strode over to face the door. She pulled her thick arm back and slammed it against the entrance. The whole frame rattled and she quickly opened the door to find Sins in the center of the hall clutching his ringing ear. She placed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "That'll teach you to be listening in on people when you can just walk in." She stomped past him and downstairs.
Canto strode over to Sins and chuckled. "Ah guess she is yer sister." Sins scowled and slunk away after his sister.
Ned smiled and looked to his companions. "On that resounding note let us relax and partake of the eateries. I know a small restaurant across the city that has a wonderful dessert," he invited them.
The suggestion was passed unanimously and the companions marched off to have some relaxing fun.
CHAPTER 20
The companions traipsed across the city enjoying the sights and tastes of the tournament. They separated into three groups, each with their own interests. Percy and Canto opted for a quiet tavern far from their previous night's rousing fun, and Ruth went alone to the cliffs to practice her flying. Night snuck up on the group of three and exhaustion snuck up on Fred. He sat with Ned and Pat around a circular table in a bar halfway across the city from their inn, and all he wanted was to be magically transported to his bed.
Ned noticed something amiss with his young apprentice when Fred set his head on the table and proceeded to snore. He tapped Fred on the shoulder and the young man started and sat up. "Who? Where? What? " he mumbled.
"Your master, this tavern, and to advise you to return to the inn and get some rest," Ned replied.
Pat glanced out a nearby window that looked out onto the streets and frowned. "It won't be easy getting back to the inn. The streets are more crowded than ever."
"Then we had better start off now and hope we're back before sunrise," Ned advised them.
Unfortunately, their plans were delayed when a group of rowdy aviators stomped into the room. The aviator in the lead was Advesario who smugly swept his eyes over the room. They fell on the disguised Fred and his companions, and a grin slipped onto his face. He strode over to the three and stood behind Fred.
"Hey there, Crash. That was some fancy flying out there today. Haven't seen you grab a rope other than your own in about five years," he commented. His four buddies laughed.
Fred glanced over his shoulder and glared at the man. "Guess I picked the easiest target," he replied.
Advesario's grin slipped a little. "No, you picked the wrong rope. Nobody's going to win the tournament but me," he growled.
"I don't think that stone has your name written on it," Fred argued.
"You've got a mouth on you now, Crash. If you're not careful your name's going to be on a headstone," Advesario warned him.
"The tournament officials would be curious to know how that would happen," Ned spoke up.
Advesario smirked and straightened. "I'm sure it'd be some sort of accident. Besides, I was just joking, wasn't I, buddy?" He slapped his hand hard against Fred's shoulder. Fred's gut was shoved into the table and he choked out the air in his lungs.
Pat jumped to her feet and set her hand atop the hilt of her sword. A couple of people close to the door scurried outside. "Do not do that again," she ordered him.
Advesario raised his hands, but his smile didn't slip. "The cute one has a sword," he told his men. They leered at her. "You know how to use that sword, little girl?" Advesario teased her.
Pat unsheathed her sword and stepped forward to show him, but Ned slipped between them. "Perhaps another time for a demonstration. We really must be getting ready for bed." He stretched his arms and winced when his back cracked. "Yes, a long sleep would-"
"Shove off, old man. We're not dealing with you," Advesario snarled.
Ned straightened and gripped his staff tightly. He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "That is very curious because I am dealing with you."
"Just get out of the way," Advesario ordered. He placed his arm on Ned's shoulder, but Ned stepped out of his grasp and thwacked the end of his staff atop Advesario's knuckles. The man howled in pain and stumbled back. "You bastard!"
"Not as far as I know," Ned replied. Advesario tossed his arm back for a swing, but Ned ducked the blow and slammed his stick into one of the man's legs, tripping him. Ned's opponent fell forward into the table, but swiftly turned and lunged at Ned. Ned blocked the man's body with a small barrier. Advesario was knocked back into the table which buckled under two punishments. The old castor turned to the other aviators and smiled at them. "Does anyone else care to discuss my lineage?" The other aviators quickly backed up.
Advesario stumbled to his feet and glared at Ned. "You're a Phaeton-damned castor!" he sputtered.
Ned half-turned to the man and raised an eyebrow. "I have that gift, but it isn't damning," he commented.
Their friendly conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a twinner and a pair of guards at the doorway. The twinner wasn't your average judge. He smartly wrapped his robes around himself and held them fast with a belt so he didn't fall like the others. The wrapped robes made the twinner look broad-chested and somewhat pudgy. The twinner noticed the collapsed table and strode over to the party. The twinner was lean and short, and had a confident, if feminine, gait to their walk. He pulled back his hood to reveal a thin-faced, clean-shaven, middle-aged man who's bright eyes glared at Advesario. The twinner spoke in a high-pitched tenor voice.
"When I heard aviators were causing a fight I expected to find you here, Ad. What have you done now?" the twinner asked the taller aviator.
Advesario sneered, and nodded to Ned. "I haven't done anything, Honorous, but he has. That guy's a castor."
Honorous' eyes flitted to Ned and noticed the staff. "Is t
his true?"
Ned looked the twinner up and down, and the corners of his mouth twitched. He finally smiled and bowed his head. "It is, and and are you truly a twinner?" he wondered.
Everyone in the room stiffened and several people scurried away from the table. Pat tensed and readied for a battle to escape the twinner, guards, and aviators. She wondered if the windows would be the best route, and if she could toss Ned through one of them to clear her way.
Honorous raised an eyebrow and ignored Ned's question. "And do you have a license to practice?"
"I do." Ned reached into his cloak and pulled out a card.
Honorous took the card, read over the contents, and frowned. "This is a license to fish in the lakes of Ogapoga."
"My apologies. Wrong license," Ned chuckled. He took back the fishing license and handed the twinner another. This one was battered, torn, and nearly ripped it two but for a winding thread that held it together.
The twinner looked over the license and frowned. His eyes flitted over the card to Ned. "Is this your real name?" he asked the castor.
"Of course," Ned replied.
"Then you are Edwin the Castor?" Honorous persisted.
"I prefer Ned, but yes," Ned told him.
Advesario glanced from the twinner to the castor and back. "What does his name got to do with anything?"
Honorous scowled at the aviator. "Everything, but his license checks out. It's old, though, so you might want to renew it before it expires," he advised. He gave it back to Ned who pocketed the license into his robe.
"I'm sure I will expire before this twenty-year license does," Ned chuckled.
Advesario bristled. "So he's getting off? He hit me with his magic!" he protested.
The twinner turned to the aviator and raised an eyebrow. "And why would he be needing to use his magic?" he wondered. Advesario's face turned sullen and he looked away. The twinner nodded. "As I thought. I think you and your group need to be heading out. We have enough trouble with the crowds without you 'helping' us out." Advesario grumbled about revenge, damnation, and castors, and stomped from the tavern. His buddies followed, and the place calmed down. Honorous turned to Ned. "I'd appreciate if you didn't use your magic until after the tournament," he requested.
Ned smiled and bowed his head. "I will be happy not to," he agreed.
"Good. If you'll excuse me, I have a half dozen other fights to handle. Goodnight." Honorous bowed his head and left.
Ned turned to his two companions and their ruined table. "After such a warm conversation the streets will feel very cold."
"I'm sure we'll manage," Pat replied.
The three stepped out into the busy, crowded roads. People were packed in shoulder to shoulder, and there were two lanes. One led east to west, and the other ran in the opposite direction. Hawkers stood on crates pressed against the walls of buildings hawking their wares while pranksters on the rooftops tossed rotten fruit at the crowds below. Tempers invariably boiled over, and twinners and guards constantly cooled the brawls with brute force. Ned guided his two younger charges into the west-to-east stream of traffic, and they pushed and pulled toward the inn.
Unfortunately, one of the groups of rooftop pranksters was filled with overachievers, and they decided that rotten fruit wasn't original enough. They took a cage full of Dirth beetles and spilled the bugs onto the crowd. The frightened beetles exploded with all the smells of a month-old trash heap, and a stampede ensued to flee from the stench. The two orderly traffic lanes merged to become a chaotic congestion of panicked people. Everyone tried to use a different route to escape and it only ensured that no one went anywhere they wanted to go.
Fred walked behind Pat and Ned when the chaos started, and the merging of lanes tore him from his friends. The crowd pressed against all sides and pulled him northward while Ned and Pat were shoved south. He flailed and pushed against the people, but panic wouldn't be beaten by a young man's weak struggles. The last he saw of his friends they were shoved into one of the larger streets and pulled into that traffic.
In a few minutes Fred himself was shoved several blocks north and only escaped by squeezing into a dark, narrow alley. He leaned against the wall and patted himself down to make sure everything was still there. All body parts were accounted for, but he couldn't account for his whereabouts. He was close to the stairs that led up to the cliffs, but he didn't know how to get back to the inn without Fluffy hopping him over the rooftops. He would have to get there on foot and hope he wouldn't get lost on the way.
CHAPTER 21
Fred sighed and stumbled down the alley to the next street. Things were quieter there, so he slunk across that street and into the next alley. This one was longer and wider, and Fred wasn't alone. He froze when his eyes settled on a figure dressed in a white robe at the opposite end of the alley. The person stood still and was turned toward him, but their face was hidden by a heavy hood. The warning from Martley echoed in his mind, but there was no one else to ask. He gingerly stepped further into the alley and called to the figure.
"Um, could you help me? I'm trying to find the Tracts of Land. Do you know where that is?" The figure stood there as still as a statue. A chill ran up and down the racetrack that was Fred's spine. Suddenly asking this person wasn't such a good idea. "I-I think I'll try to find it on my own. Thanks, anyway." Fred turned away only to knock his nose into an object standing behind him. He stumbled back and his eyes widened when he saw the same white figure standing before him. He whipped his head around and saw the alley behind him was empty.
"Your staff. Give it to me," the figure spoke. The person had the voice of an old man, but the tone was as soft as a winter's breeze and twice as chilly.
Fred clutched at the broken pieces of wood at his waist and frowned. "How do you know it's a staff?" he asked the figure.
The man raised one arm and revealed a slender, pale hand with long fingers. Fred's sticks were torn from his waistband and flew into the stranger's open hand.
"Hey! Give that-" Fred's eyes widened when he watched his broken sticks transform into his staff. "H-how did you do that?" Not even Ned could do that.
The man lowered Fred's staff and raised his head. Beneath the cloak Fred could make out a pair of bright blue eyes, but nothing else. Those eyes were as cold as his voice, and Fred took a step backward. However, he wouldn't leave without his staff, and Fred recalled the final trick Ned had shown him, the one this man had just performed. He held out his hand like Ned and this stranger had done, and concentrated hard on his staff. Nothing happened.
The stranger chuckled. "Let me show you how it's done."
The man lifted his other hand and Fred felt invisible fingers grip his collar. He yelped as he was lifted off his feet and suspended two feet in the air. He grasped his collar, but there was nothing to grip. His disguise as Crash also fell, revealing his true self as one very terrified young man.
"L-let go of me!" he choked out.
Fred floated over to the figure who examined the young man. "When were you born, boy?" he asked him.
"On my birthday," Fred quipped. He gasped when the grip on his collar tightened.
"Answer me, boy," the stranger demanded.
"I-I don't know. Sixteen years ago," Fred guessed.
The man raised his free hand and brushed it against the side of Fred's face. Fred shuddered at the clammy feel of the wrinkled skin. When the man next spoke his low voice trembled. "Yes, I feel it now. The Stones were not wrong. Your soul is the same." The man's hand shook as he stroked Fred's face and the stranger's voice was filled with a strong passion of possession. "You are mine."
"What are you talking about?" Fred gasped.
The old man paused, and then leaned forward toward Fred. A pair of sharp, dark eyes looked out from the darkness of the hood and surveyed the young man. "Who are you?"
"Not yours," Fred shot back.
Fred heard a hiss escape his captor's lips and the grip on his throat tightened. "Your eyes are wrong." The invisible h
ands roughly shook Fred. "Why are your eyes wrong?"
"They're just my eyes," Fred insisted.
The man paused, and all that was heard was his harsh breathing. "You are him, and yet you are not, but the soul is the same and that is all I need." He reached into his white robe and pulled out a small, simple wooden box hewn from a dark-barked tree. The man held it in his open palm in front of Fred and the lid opened itself.
Fred's eyes widened when his body glowed like a thousand lit candles. The light was an extension of himself and mirrored the look of his body, but he realized the figure somehow looked older and taller. He felt he was seeing himself in a few years rather than who he was now.
His skin warmed and his vision changed. Instead of seeing through one set of eyes he now had two. The new pair of eyes belonged to the ghostly light around him, and it saw the world as a place covered in patches of light and dark. A deep, impenetrable darkness surrounded the man in front of him. The shadow twisted and bent as though surrounded in a perpetual wind of malice.
An agonizing pain shot through his body as the light around him was pulled toward the small box. Fred felt as though all his muscles and nerves were being torn from him. He struggled anew to free himself, but the invisible hand held him tight. The light over his body arched upward and down toward the open lid. Through both visions Fred could see the man's pale lips twisted into a cruel, eager grin.
A fireball flew over the shoulder of the stranger. It hit and knocked down the box, and the wooden container clattered to the ground. Another fireball slammed into the stranger's back and he staggered forward. Fred felt the invisible hand vanish and he dropped to the ground. The light wrapped back around his body and most of the pain subsided, but he still had double vision.
The robed man swung around and growled. Fred coughed and raised his head to see Ned and Pat standing at the head of the alley. Ned had his staff pointed at them and he looked at the stranger with a venomous expression.
"Interrupting again?" the man hissed.
The Unwilling Aviator (Book 4) Page 13
