“I’m better, depending on who you are?” Grange managed to find some humor. He didn’t know or recognize the man.
“I’m Elred. I was with Jenniline last night when we brought you out,” the man explained. He was a young man, though older than Grange, with very light brown hair.
The name was familiar – Grange remembered Jenniline mentioning it.
“Thank you for your help,” he said gratefully.
“What are you doing here?” Grange asked.
“There’s quite a fuss in the palace over your disappearance, and folks apparently have some suspicion about Jenniline and Hope because of their scene this morning at the gate,” the young priest answered. “They sent a message telling me to move you further from the palace.”
Grange searched the man’s face suspiciously, looking for any evidence of treachery. There was none in sight. The priest looked sincerely distressed, and Grange knew that he had few options in any case. He was relying on the mercy of the small group that had rescued him from the dungeon, and until he felt healthier, recovered from the abuse of the King’s torturer, he had little choice but to follow the guidance of his rescuers.
“Now, in the middle of the morning?” Grange asked.
“I think the sooner, the better,” Elred answered. “In a few minutes, there’ll be a festival parade passing through the city, right by this gate of the palace. That’ll be a chance to mix in the crowd and go to the next safe house.”
“What kind of parade?” Grange asked, though he didn’t really care. He just wanted to seem to be polite.
“It’s a parade of the followers of Ralax, the god of pleasure,” Elred said in a steady voice. “Here,” he pulled a small pack off his back, and unloaded a costume from it, then threw the items to Grange. “Put these on.”
There was a blue cape, and a blue, hooded mask, with the semblance of a bird’s beak on the front. Large, stuffed yellow slippers were made to slip over his shoes, though Grange only had bare feet.
“It’s a bird?” he looked inquiringly at Elred.
“It’s a blue jay. The bird is sacred to Ralax because of its reputation for playing and never working,” the man explained.
There was a distant blaring of horns, and cymbals clashed as well.
“That’s the approach of the parade already,” Elred sounded the alarm. “We need to get down there.”
Grange pulled the items into place, then stood up.
“I wonder,” he started to ask a question, then paused.
“What?” Elred looked at him.
“It just seems strange, out of character for the followers of Ralax to have a morning parade, you know?” Grange tried to explain his puzzlement. “I’d think they would be out partying all night, and then not be able to get up and do something like this in the morning. Why wouldn’t they hold their parade at midnight, or sunset?” he asked.
“Oh,” Elred gave a half smile, “they do that too; they are much more energetic in their evening parades. They’re just trying to show off in the mornings and prove they’re relevant, because, you know,” his voice trailed off.
“What? Why?” Grange asked.
“Well, because we have our god living among us, here in the temple in the city, of course,” Elred was alternately aghast at Grange’s ignorance and proud to tell the tale. “He came to live among us two months ago, in preparation for a great, cataclysmic battle, he told us,” the priest exclaimed.
“That’s what Jenniline was talking about,” Grange suddenly made sense of the things the princess had told him in the wilderness.
“Undoubtedly,” Elred agreed, still standing at the open door, as the sound of the Ralax parade approached. “She was one of scores that approached the temple, eager to be chosen to fight with Acton. She’s one of several that he sent out on a testing quest; she’s one of fewer to come back,” he added.
“But come along; we need to meet the parade,” he waved his hand. Grange pulled his blue bird-beaked mask down over his face, then peered through the small eye openings, and carefully trod down the stairs behind his guide. They walked through the alley and reached the thin line of morning spectators who watched the half-hearted parade of revelers and musicians strolling past, clapping hands and throwing occasional small trinkets to interested members of the crowd. Most of the parade participants wore costumes – some similar to Grange’s. Others were shepherds or milkmaids or fantastical figures.
“You get in there among them and walk with the parade. I’ll cut up ahead and pull you out when you’re near the safe house,” he explained.
“Wait! What?” Grange asked in fear. “You’re going to leave me out here in the parade? You’re sure you’ll be able to find me?” he asked.
“You’re the only blue jay in the parade,” Elred said soothingly. “Just stay relaxed, and stay in the front of the parade. I’ll come pull you out.
“I need to run ahead and make sure the second house is ready,” he said encouragingly. “You just run along,” were his parting words, as he starting walking briskly up the street ahead of the parade.
“But I can’t run on these legs,” Grange protested softly, as he watched his guide leave.
The front of the parade was drawing even, a row of men marching with horns, and Grange was suddenly reminded of his flute for the first time in many days. He wondered where the flute was, and tried but failed to remember where he and it had parted ways – probably when he had been kidnapped at Earl Goala’s castle, he decided. And his sword and knife were probably there too; he momentarily mourned the loss of the weapons, which seemed to have been special items from his past life.
In a pinch though, he told himself, he could probably play one of the horns. He watched one instrument player’s fingers, then he stepped into the front line of the parade and became a part of the spectacle, just that simply, walking boldly on a path within sight of the palace gates and strolling away from the place of captivity.
As he walked he watched the horn players further, watching how they fingered the valves on their instruments. It wasn’t as simple as his flute, he concluded, but the act of observing as he walked and limped along took his mind off the danger he was in as a fugitive in Southgar. Before he realized it, he had already traveled several blocks away from the palace.
“Hey blue jay!” he heard himself addressed for the first time, and saw a band of small boys grouped together along the curb. “We’re going to pull your feathers!” one of them threatened.
Grange lifted his arms as though they were wings, and took two quick steps towards the boys as he lowered his beak, threatening to spear the boys.
The two steps he took with heavy, speedy thrusts made his legs ache more severely, and he stopped moving forward, to prevent more pain from spreading – he felt his ankle start to buckle. But the two steps were enough to make the boys squeal with delighted fear, and run off in multiple directions.
“Run before I eat you all!” he squawked.
Grange grinned at his success inside his mask.
There was a blare of horns from the musicians beside him, a fanfare denoting the arrival of a dignitary.
“All hail the mighty blue jay!” one of the musicians shouted out, and all the horn players mockingly circled around him and bowed, then played a discordant, clashing salute to him before they resumed leading the parade onward.
Grange laughed and stood in place, still waiting for his ankle to stop throbbing, before he moved on, walking behind the band at a slower pace, and falling behind. He felt a sense of double relief when he saw Elred waiting for his arrival minutes later – relief that he would soon be in a safe house, and relief that he would soon be able to rest his injured body. Elred nodded his head, and Grange nodded back, then dropped out of the parade, and followed Elred into a tavern.
“Sit here,” Elred pointed to a table in the back of the tavern, then he went to the bar and returned with two mugs. When he sat down he pulled a floppy, non-descript hat off his seat and handed
it to Grange.
“Take off your costume, put on this hat, and drink that pint of ale quickly,” he commanded.
“Grange did as ordered without question, making a face at the unwelcome taste of the ale.
“Here, now drink this pint more slowly,” Elred slid the second mug over to Grange, who looked at it with distaste, then took a sip.
“Why am I drinking two mugs of this and you haven’t drunk any?” he asked after his second sip.
“Because you look like you need it more than I do,” Elred grinned. “We’re only about fifty yards from your new residence, so I figure you can drink a snoot-full then fall asleep for the rest of the day, or a couple of days, for that matter.”
”I’ve had enough,” Grange decided after one more sip. “We can go now.”
Elred laughed gently. “Good for you for knowing when to stop. A lot of folks in places like this don’t know how to do that.” He stood up and led the way out the back of the tavern, into another alley.
They walked through to the other side of the block, then into a store selling bolts of cloth. In the back, a curtain hid a narrow stairwell.
“Up here we go,” he said, and led the way.
Halfway up the steps Grange suddenly found it necessary to flatten his back against the wall, as a woman came clambering downward.
“A new customer?” she asked inquisitively, as she paused on the same step as Grange, their bodies making contact in the narrow passage, and making Grange squirm.
“No, just a short term neighbor,” Elred answered for Grange. “But we’d love to see you come by the temple – any temple you want!” he added with another grin.
The man had an unfailingly cheery disposition, Grange was glad to see.
“Maybe we can visit sometime?” the woman said archly, and then she moved downward, on her way out.
“Who was she?” Grange asked Elred as they resumed climbing the stairs.
“Someone who I’m sure you won’t do business with,” the priest said evasively, as they reached a small landing at the top of the stairs, where three doors were crowded together.
Elred opened the door on the right, and led Grange into a single room, with a bed and a table and chairs. Grange stumped into the room, saw the bed, and rolled into it immediately, worn, in pain, and inebriated.
“I have to go to the temple,” the priest said. “You just wait here and rest. Someone will be here after dark.
“Do you think we need to have a doctor come look after your wounds?” he asked after a moment’s hesitation.
Grange turned his head and looked away from the man. A part of him wanted someone to look after him, but his pride didn’t want to admit that he had been crippled by the attacks he had suffered.
“No, I think that if I rest, I’ll be better,” he answered.
“Well, we’ll see,” Eldred left the door open for future medical care. “Stay brave and get your rest,” he said in parting, and then he was gone.
Grange gave a deep sigh, and closed his eyes, weary. He was physically weary, but he was spiritually worn too. He was tired of being suspected of evil intent, when he had none. He was tired of the mistreatment. He was tired of having no one he could remember as a friend or ally. He was tired of having no past, no memories, no connection with the society around him.
He began to doze, thinking of the street urchins in the street who he had playfully sparred with. He wished he could have more genuine interactions with the people around him.
He sat upright with a bolt. He had interacted with the boys. He had understood them, and spoken to them.
He had understood them as they spoke in their own language.
He had spoken to them in their own language. He had understood the woman on the stairs as well.
He knew their language. Suddenly. He didn’t know how, but he surmised that it was a recovered memory, one that he had held and lost prior to the visit to the Yellow Spring, and he wondered about his past. He had been told that he was likely to recover the memories that the spring water had covered over, and perhaps it was coming true.
But, he further asked himself, what if he were to discover that he really was a Southgar resident? Why would he have been so far away from civilization, by himself? What if he really was a Bloomingian – perhaps he really was a pretender to the throne; the King himself had identified him as one.
Except that the Bloomingians in the wilderness outpost had not recognized him, had not known him, had not promoted or assisted him in any way.
He lay back, astounded by the belated realization. He knew the language, for the most part, he told himself, as he recollected the things he had heard around him. There were words he didn’t know – many of them. Perhaps he was simply only partially through the process of recovering memories, or perhaps the language was not his native language.
He lay still, smiling and dozing, wondering what was to come next, feeling pleased despite the pain from the torture. He knew that Hope and Jenniline would be amazed by his sudden knowledge of their language.
The room was dark, he realized with a start. He must have fallen asleep, and the sun must have set. And there was a knocking on the door, which was why he had awoken.
“Neighbor?” a woman’s voice called. Grange realized that she was speaking in the common tongue, not the language of Southgar.
“Neighbor, please,” she called.
Grange stood up shakily, the numbness of the alcohol having expired, while the pain of his injuries remained. He walked cautiously over to the door, then opened it.
The woman from the stair passage stood on the dark landing outside his door.
“Neighbor,” she said earnestly. “I heard some men downstairs, who said they were looking for a man. I thought it might be you,” she said nervously.
“Why do you think that?” he asked after a moment’s pause, trying to digest the information. He also spoke in the common language.
“They said they were looking for someone who did not speak like us from Southgar, and someone who looked beaten up.
“If it’s you, you need to come with me, right now,” she told him. “They’re going to come upstairs any second.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” Grange practically admitted he was the subject of the search.
“I’m the last one to turn someone in,” she laughed harshly.
“Where are we going?” Grange asked, slipping out of his room onto the small landing.
“Careful,” the woman reached out and grasped his hand in hers, then opened her own door on the opposite side of the landing – just two steps across – and pulled him into the room.
She released her hold of his hand as she closed the door, then fumbled with something, and sparked a lantern, which cast light upon the two occupants and the room around them. The room was much larger than his, but he didn’t notice that at first, as he gawked at his rescuer-neighbor.
The woman wore colorful makeup, bright colors around her eyes, and on her cheeks, and especially – and surprisingly – on her ample chest, drawing his eyes down to look at the revealing dress she wore. His eyes followed the colors down, then he raised them immediately with a jerk, back to her face, which would have been pretty even without the makeup, possibly even prettier.
“There’s no time for that now,” the woman said in a no nonsense voice. “Get in the closet.” With her lantern in hand, she led him across her room to a door, and pulled it open, revealing a closet space, but before Grange could enter, she pulled on a shelf, which tilted down and revealed shallow ladder treads built in.
They both heard the sound of boots climbing the stairs at that moment.
“Quickly, climb up there, and stay until I tell you to come down,” she pushed him into the closet, then swung the door shut.
“And pull the shelf up after you,” she called through the door.
Grange heard the boots reach the landing, then the opening of a door, perhaps the door of the room he had just abandoned. There
was no sound of a knock on the door, he noted as he awkwardly placed his feet on the treads to scramble up into the hidden cube that rested above the closet doorway, a sheet providing the appearance of a wall at the top of the closet chamber. He pushed the sheet aside and crawled into the hiding spot.
He reached down and pulled the shelf up, as he heard a knock at his rescuer’s door. The shelf rose, and then he felt it snap into place. He curled into the cozy space behind the sheet, and wondered at the construction of such an unusual space, and he wondered how his hostess had even known of its existence.
“Who is it?” the woman in the room asked.
“This is the palace guard; open the door,” a man’s voice said, speaking in the common tongue.
“What did you say? I didn’t understand you,” Grange’s co-conspirator answered in Southgar’s language.
“We’re here from the palace!” the man answered in the native tongue as well.
“The palace? Is the king interested in having me come for a visit? That’s quite a testimony!” the woman laughed, as Grange heard her open her door.
“Are you alone?” one of the guards asked.
“No – you’re here,” the woman answered with a laugh.
Grange heard the woman grunt, and boots clumped into the room, three pairs or perhaps four, he thought.
“We’re here to look around. Have you seen a man in any of the rooms up here today?” a guard asked.
“There was a man in the room across the hall this afternoon, but someone came and fetched him away not too long ago,” she answered.
Grange heard the closet door suddenly open directly beneath him, and he held his breath.
“Have you had anyone else in here today?” the guard at the closet asked the woman.
“Just the usual collection of lonely hearts,” she replied.
The closet door closed.
“If you hear of your neighbor coming back, come to the palace immediately, and report it,” a guard said.
“So you didn’t come to invite me to see the king? This is so I can visit this neighbor? He seemed pretty crippled; can he really enjoy my company?” the woman inquired.
“Go on with you,” the guard said in an amused tone. “You go back out to the streets and don’t get caught, and be sure to let us know if you see this missing fellow – he’s a bad one, they say.”
The Greater Challenge Beyond (The Southern Continent Series Book 3) Page 8
