by Jaxon Reed
Stin stopped at an open window, looked out upon the city and waved his hand in a grand gesture.
“You know, the thing about these townhomes is . . .”
He looked down, making a mental assessment as to the distance of the nearest roof.
“. . . they offer an easy escape!”
Stin scurried onto the window’s ledge and jumped to the roof below, about ten paces down. He hit the surface and rolled, breaking his fall.
He turned and looked back up at the window, where Nessa and Dunken stared down at him in shock.
Stin dusted off his coat, waved at them, then turned and ran.
THE SUN DIPPED low on the horizon when Stin walked into Felway’s shop. Rooftops, Stin discovered, actually provided decent passage, at least in the richer portions of the city.
He’d picked up a travel bag some careless tourist left by their table in a café near the city’s center, and he now walked through the rougher portion of town with his fine jacket and the dagger stowed in the bag.
He had removed a smaller knife from the jacket’s sleeve, and kept it in his front pants pocket in case of trouble. Most in these quarters ignored him, although he knew his finer clothes, as well as the bag he carried, could well make him a target for thuggery as darkness increased.
Finally he spied the sign for Felway’s shop: three gold-painted balls hanging in a row from a rod above the door. The one in the center hung lower than the other two in the universal sign for a pawnshop.
The bell on the door jangled as he entered. Felway’s daughter looked up. In her early twenties, she wore her brown hair short like others in the city, and a black dress stylish among the merchant class. At least, Stin suspected it was stylish. He wasn’t sure, since he paid more attention to the upper classes. She certainly didn’t seem out of place in the neighborhood, though, and she carried herself with confidence. Therefore, he surmised, she was probably dressed appropriately.
“Oh, it’s you.”
She played disinterested, but Stin suspected she might well find him attractive despite her façade of indifference. He had to be of higher stock than most of Felway’s customers.
He gave her his best grin.
“I have something for your father.”
She made a face at him, then ducked through the curtain covering the doorway leading to the back part of the shop.
A moment later, she stuck her head out.
“You can enter.”
He walked past her, deliberately sliding his body next to hers. She snorted in disgust and looked off in the distance as he slid by.
He smiled at her. Normally his charms worked better on women.
“We’ll talk later, Stella.”
She snorted again, and the curtain fell back as she walked up front. He turned and faced Felway in the small back room. The fat man sat behind a massive desk, sharp eyes peering out from the folds in his corpulent face.
“So . . . you have it?”
“Of course, Felway. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Stin opened the bag and pulled the dagger from its hiding place. The dull, colorless blade glowed faintly in the dim light of the room.
“It’s an odd thing. Must be magic, to glow like that, huh?”
Felway ignored him, reaching eagerly toward the dagger. Stin handed it over and let the fat little man inspect his prize.
A short man, Felway stood under five paces. Wisps of brown hair flew unkempt from his head. Stin wondered if he ever combed them into place.
Felway’s back room seemed as untidy as his hair, with various items and trinkets strewn about the floor and on shelves and tabletops. Ostensibly, Felway was a pawnbroker. But everyone knew he fenced stolen goods, taking a cut of the action from robberies and thefts across the city.
“I can’t believe you got it.”
Felway’s eyes gleamed in greed as he turned the dagger over in his hands.
“What’s so special about this knife, Felway? Other than the fact you needed someone well accustomed to society’s upper crust in order to get it?”
Felway glanced up from the dagger, and his eyes narrowed as they met Stin’s.
“That is none of your concern, thief. All you need is your gold, and you can go away.”
He climbed under his desk, twirled the combination to a floor safe, and opened its heavy iron door. He pulled out a sack of gold the size of a grapefruit.
“Here’s your pay, as we agreed. Now go.”
Stin reached for the sack of gold just as the front door crashed in. Stella screamed. They heard shouting from the front.
“Royal Guard! Get down!”
Felway muttered a curse, then ducked under his desk. Stin grabbed the gold and shoved it into his bag. On impulse, he grabbed the dagger too.
He ran for the back door as the guards tore through the curtain.
BY DUSK STIN had made his way back to the better part of town, where the upper and upper middle classes found entertainment among the shops and restaurants built to serve them.
He walked into a public house, and ordered supper and a beer. He apologized profusely to the serving wench when he gave her a gold coin to pay up. It was the smallest coin he had, he explained. She laughed, bit the coin, and returned with his change. She didn’t notice when he swiped the gold coin back from her.
A royal guardsman stepped into the pub and hammered up a broadsheet in the common space. Stin squinted, and made out a fairly good likeness of his face on the poster.
The waitress returned, and flirted with him a bit. He responded in kind. When she left, he tipped her with some of the change she had given him. Then he cut through the kitchen and out the back door.
He Stin wandered through the streets for an hour, heading in the general direction of his inn. He kept an eye behind him, making sure no one followed. He also kept a wary eye out for the Royal Guard.
He turned a corner and spied a group of four guardsmen in the street. They each held a broadsheet with the drawing of his face, and looked carefully at the single men passing by them in all directions. Men in groups, women and children, they ignored. But if a lone man walked down the street, they gave him a good close look.
Stin ducked into an alley behind a restaurant.
A tall pile of garbage fell over. Stin jerked toward the sound, reaching instinctively for a knife.
A street urchin poked his head up from the garbage piled along the wall of the alley. He looked back at Stin.
The boy appeared to be about twelve years of age. He was dirty, covered in filth. His clothes were rags, barely stretching over his body.
The backdoor to the restaurant opened, and a servant poked his head out. He saw the urchin, and his lip curled back in a snarl.
“You filthy rat! I warned you about coming over to our side of town again!”
He grabbed a stick propped behind the door, and came out in the alley waving it. The urchin backed up toward Stin.
“Hold on there. What are you doing with my boy?”
The servant stopped, confused, and looked from the urchin to Stin. He struggled to comprehend the situation, and finally bowed to Stin’s fine garments and outward appearance.
“Milord, this is but a common street rat. He has plagued our midden heap for weeks. Surely this is not your servant, milord!”
Stin pulled in his stomach and thrust forward his chest, as he had seen nobles do when addressing servants.
“He most certainly is! And, I am offended you labeled him a ‘street rat.’ He is no such thing! I demand to see your superior immediately!”
The servant’s eyes grew wide. He bowed low, muttering apologies. He retreated back inside and closed the door.
Stin smiled at the young boy.
“Time to go. It so happens I need a companion for a bit. Come with me.”
He held the boy’s hand, and together they walked out into the street, making their way past the Royal Guard without a second look.
A block away, Stin let go of the b
oy’s hand and chuckled.
“That worked out well!”
Stin looked down at the urchin. Grime covered the child’s face. He smelled bad, like weeks-old garbage.
Stin fished out a gold coin.
“Here you go, boy. For your troubles.”
The child eagerly grabbed the coin, and it disappeared somewhere in his rags.
Stin continued down the street, heading in the general direction of his inn. The boy followed a few paces behind.
Stin looked back after walking a couple blocks. He stopped, and waited for the boy to catch up to him. He bent down again, bringing his face level with the boy’s.
“No, you don’t understand. The gold coin means you are free to go away. Following me won’t lead to more gold coins.”
The boy looked back at him, unblinking. Stin noted he had dark blue eyes. His hair seemed dark brown, but most people had brown hair. Besides, the urchin’s hair hadn’t been washed in months, maybe longer. Perhaps it was a lighter shade underneath the grime.
“Go on!”
Stin pointed in the opposite direction.
“There’s nothing here for you!”
The boy kept looking at him, dark blue eyes unblinking.
Stin snorted.
“Whatever. They won’t let you into my hostelry, I can assure you.”
A HALF HOUR LATER, darkness had settled completely over the city, and Stin approached the street in front of his inn. He rounded a corner with the urchin, and stopped. Three Ruby Royal Guards stood in front of the entrance, watching everybody on the street.
“Aw, crap.”
The boy looked at him with an accusatory glance.
“Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I said a bad word. But it was justified. You see those men? I can’t get to my room with them out front.”
The boy pointed toward an alley.
“Yeah, I guess I can climb up from there. Come on.”
They ducked into the alley, and Stin looked up three stories to the window of his room. He put his foot on a stone jutting out slightly from the wall, and reached up for a higher handhold. He started climbing. In minutes, he pulled even with the window. He pushed it open and pulled himself inside.
Stin laid down on the floor, stretching his taut muscles, and sighed in relief. He heard a slight groan from outside the window.
He stuck his head out and looked down. The street urchin struggled on the wall just below the ledge, hand flailing for a grip on the uneven stone.
Below, one of the guardsmen stepped into the alley.
A wave of compassion swept over Stin, combined with the fear of discovery. He reached down out the window, stretching toward the boy.
“Grab my hand,” he whispered.
He strained hard, and pulled the boy up and through the window. They collapsed on the floor panting for breath.
CHAPTER 4
Tomlin rocked steadily back and forth in the driver’s seat, his two men sitting to the right. They stayed quiet as the new procession started down the road, toward the curve and the large boulder off to one side where Darkstone stood not too long ago.
Behind them other than blood stains, charred spots on the road and fresh graves, little remained to mark the battle.
Tomlin gave the horses free rein, and they followed Trant’s and the wizard’s horses by instinct.
“Do you think we can trust them, Cap’n?”
Tomlin turned toward the man in the middle who had spoken. Beet was his name, and it seemed an appropriate one. He had red-orange hair, large freckles, and ruddy skin. Beet hailed from an old and respected merchant family in the Coral Kingdom.
Tomlin nodded.
“They killed the bad guys, Beet. That makes them good in my book.”
The trio rode on in silence as the royal carriage passed the large boulder and rounded the bend. Woods stretched out ahead by the road, crowding it as the trees pressed in even closer.
Beet spoke again.
“Could be a conspiracy, Cap’n. Could be the wizards fought to gain our trust.”
Tomlin shook his head.
“None of the other wizards like Darkstone, that’s a fact. Everyone knows he rebelled against the Magic Council, and he’s acting on his own. I can’t believe Greystone would be in cahoots with him.”
But, he thought to himself, he could believe that Greystone would be involved in something dealing with his princess. Greystone seemed to enjoy sticking his nose in all the royal families’ business from time to time.
Out loud he said, “We need to stay on our toes, men. We’re the last guards from home Princess Margwen has.”
A MILE CONSISTS of 5,000 paces, and Tomlin figured they had passed half a mile from the bend in the road when Trant held his fist up. Tomlin pulled the reins gently, bringing his team to a halt.
Trant and Greystone looked back down the road to make sure stragglers were catching up. The two men tasked with carrying the broken carriage door brought up the rear, following those laden with pikes, lances, and tack that had been salvaged.
Satisfied, Trant and Greystone turned their horses to the right, off the road and into the underbrush between the trees.
Tomlin and Beet looked at one another. Tomlin shrugged, and flipped the reins over the horses’ backs, then pulled them to the right. The carriage burst through the underbrush and onto a hidden trail.
Beet and the other man, a lancer named Altor, gazed around in wonder. Tomlin stayed focused on Trant’s back, absently holding the reins and gently rocking with the carriage’s movement.
Something caught Altor’s eye, and he grabbed Beet’s arm.
“Ay, now! Over there! Weren’t that a sprite, Beet? Or a pixie?”
“I dunno. What’d it look like?”
“’Twas all colorful. A pretty flash of light.”
“Could be a firefly.”
“No, no. I know what a firefly looks like. This was too colorful. Red and green and bright, not like the white light of a firefly.”
Beet shrugged.
“How about it, Cap’n? Could there be pixies here abouts?”
Tomlin shrugged.
“We just saw two wizards fighting it out on the road. Nothing would surprise me about the Hidden Woods anymore.”
Half an hour passed as they rode further along the path. The flashes of light increased in frequency and intensity. Beet and Altor took turns pointing them out to each other. Tomlin ignored the lights, keeping his eyes on Trant’s back.
Altor yelped in surprise when a pixie appeared a few feet in front of his face. Trant and Greystone turned around in their saddles and smiled in amusement at the look of wonder on the lancer’s face.
Soon, pixies flew everywhere, surrounding the carriage. Altor held out his hand in amazement. Three pixies hovered near it.
“Why, look at ’em, Beet! Beautiful little women they are!”
Tomlin glanced over at Altor. The three pixies hovering near his outstretched hand indeed appeared female, wings fluttering off their backs. One glowed red, another blue, another green. The others floating around them flashed the same colors. An occasional few flashed yellow.
“Primary colors.”
The other two lancers turned to look at him. Beet raised his eyebrows.
“Come again, Cap’n?”
“They’re shining in primary colors. You know. Red, blue, green. All the other colors are derivatives.”
His men stared at him. He looked at them, and turned away. Then he looked again. They still stared at him. He laughed for the first time since the battle.
“You two look like I just grew a second head.”
“It’s alright, Cap’n,” Altor assured him. “We ain’t got the learnin’ you do.”
SEVERAL PIXIES HOVERED around the carriage’s broken doorway. Margwen and Anabella watched them with a mixture of curiosity and wonder.
“They’re so beautiful!” Margwen said.
Deedles meowed. Margwen looked down at the cat in her lap. Deedles
seemed to be able to see the pixies clearly.
One grew bold enough to fly inside the carriage, and hovered near the cat’s face. Deedles reached out a paw and tried to bat it.
The pixie seemed highly amused at this, and easily dodged the cat’s paw. Half a dozen more flew in beside it and began playing with the cat, trying to get her to bat at them. Deedles obliged, swinging her paw at the pixies flying around her face.
“Look at that, Highness. They seem fascinated with the cat.”
Margwen nodded, smiling. Soon, a dozen more pixies flew inside the carriage and surrounded Deedles.
AFTER A WHILE, Tomlin noticed the path growing wider. Gradually it morphed into a genuine road. The trees and underbrush faded to the sides. In the distance, the road seemed covered in haze. Trant and the Greystone rode through the haze and disappeared.
The first two horses pulling the carriage stepped through the haze, and they disappeared, too. Then the next two, and the next. Finally, the men on the driver’s seat went through as well, then the whole carriage had gone through. They were on the same road, but the woods were gone. In its place, a small town spread out before them.
Trant looked over his shoulder and smiled at Tomlin.
“Welcome to Greystone Village.”
As the carriage neared the first buildings, it seemed to Tomlin the town would be filled with pixies. They flew about in clusters, examining things at random.
As they rode into the village itself, Tomlin decided it seemed like many others, save for all the pixies flying about. He noticed shops selling food and dry goods. In the distance he saw a church, its steeple marking the highest point in town. He heard the tell-tale sounds of metal clanking on an anvil from a blacksmith’s shop. Barefoot children ran out into the street and followed the royal carriage, laughing and waving up at the lancers, peeking inside at the women and the cat.
They pulled up to a large three story inn and public house, and Trant raised his fist again. Across the street stood a fine manor. Tomlin suspected the manor might be the most attractive building in town, and decided it probably marked the center of the village.
He pulled the team to a halt and set the brake. Trant dismounted, and approached the doorway of the carriage.
