"We're in need of help, old mother," Ned politely replied. "Will you allow us to hide in your cart so we may enter the town?"
The old woman looked over the three, particularly Fred. He frowned in turn; there was something strange about the woman's face. Almost like it didn't fit right on her head. "And why are you wanting to do that? Got yourselves into some sort of trouble?"
"Something like that," Ned admitted. "It may be dangerous, especially if our foes finds us."
The woman straightened her small form and cackled. "You must think me a fool, but I'll go along with this joke." She nodded back toward the wagon. "Hop in and hurry, for I've fruit to sell. And mind you, don't squish any of my vegetables!" she scolded as they quickly climbed inside. No sooner had she said that than Pat stepped on a cantaloupe. The vegetable gave a soft squish and, as a last revenge, squirted its juice in Pat's eyes. The old woman turned her head and glared at the girl. "You'll be paying for that one, Miss Armor."
Pat scowled but didn't argue. They seated themselves on the crowded floor and pulled the extra cloth from the wagon covering over themselves. The woman cracked her whip and they plodded off down the road. The wagon rocked from side to side at a pace equal to a toddler's. The distance was short and they soon heard the noise of people and commerce; they'd reached the town gates.
"Whoa there, old mother," a man's deep voice called out. The wagon slowed to a stop. "What have you here?"
"Vegetables as always, now let me pass," she shot back.
"I'm afraid there's been some trouble along that road you came from, so we'll have to ask to search your cart." Fred's heart pounded and he heard the sound of armor clank alongside of the wagon.
"Now wait a minute! I won't have your filthy hands on my vegetables!" their driver protested. "If'n you're going to touch them then you need to wash your hands!"
There was a general murmur of laughter from other people who passed by the wagon on their way into and out of the town. A crowd even formed to watch this affair. The lead guard stepped forward and uneasily glanced at the onlookers. "Listen, old mother, we will only take a moment to look for-"
"-to look for nothing with your grubby hands!" She waved her hand back to the river outside. "You go wash your hands in there or you're not touching my food!"
The crowd burst into glee at the old woman showing up the guards and ruffians. The men shifted uneasily and clinked in their armor. "We only want a quick look, old mother. We'll only lift the tarps."
"And ruin my good tarps with your hands? I say wash them and look, or let me pass. You're keeping me from selling some damn good vegetables to these fine people."
The lead guard scowled at her obstinance. "I've been patient enough with you, old mother, but you'll do what we say, or we'll turn you back."
The onlookers murmured their disapproval at his threat. The woman was old and hadn't harmed anyone; the guards were demanding a look only because their knight friends wanted them to do so. The crowd pushed in on the knights and the guards whipped their heads around at the people; they saw only angry faces.
The old woman saw the crowd was on her side and smiled. "Will you let me pass or no?"
The guard growled, but waved his hand toward the entrance. "Very well, get along with you, you old hag!"
"And a good day to you, too, gentlemen!" she cackled. She took the whip to her sorry mule and the wagon lurched forward into the town.
The three passengers breathed a sigh of relief; they'd made it past the worst spot, and now only needed to avoid their enemies. Their driver took them to the marketplace, and climbed down from her perch. She opened the rear of the wagon and swept off their covers. "All right now, out with you! You've had your fun, and I've had mine, but now it's time to get to work." They climbed out, but the woman firmly grabbed onto Pat's arm. "Hold a minute. You owe me something for the cantalope. That was my best and I expected to get a silver out of it."
Pat scowled; she'd hoped to use some of the pay-dirt to give to the old woman, but it only turned to gold. The girl dug into her pocket and pulled out a silver coin. "Here," she flatly replied, and tossed the coin into the old woman's hands.
The old woman clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Not even a thank-you for my efforts? You need to learn some manners, girl."
Pat blushed at the scolding, and opened her mouth to snap a retort. Ned swept up to her and held his hand over her mouth. He smiled at the old woman and bowed his head. "We're very grateful for your kind help, old mother. May your vegetables sell well this day."
The old woman smiled and bowed her head. She tottered off to ready her wagon, and the three companions were left on their own. Fred now had a clear view of their surroundings, and he looked in awe at the sights around them. The wooden houses with their thatched or tiled roofs were crowded together with no thought to design, creating angled streets and dark, narrow alleys. The buildings were three or four stories tall and housed every sort of person. Women of infamous houses sat themselves on the wide windowsills and showed off their wares, dwarves worked their forges on the ground floors, and there were even a few stray elves in their brown cloaks who mingled with the aristocratic merchants in their homes.
The marketplace lay in one of the few open areas in the town, and the stalls crowded in one each other in mimic to the houses. People, carts and animals bustled about. Small children herded geese and chickens, adults tugged cows and oxen to the sale yard situated on a wide street off the marketplace. People shouted their wares and prices, others haggled and still more merely browsed the wide selection of food, trinkets and tools.
"Keep your eyes out for a castor," Ned warned them.
Fred wanted to ask what that was exactly, but his companions hurried forward and all he could do was follow them. They wound their way through the stalls, hagglers and shoppers, and went into a narrow alley. The doors to the buildings lined the walls on either side of them, and wares were set out for perusal. Ned led them to the shop closest to the alley entrance, and paused at the battered, half-rotted door. He turned and looked over the youngsters. "Mind you, don't touch anything unless I've given you permission. There are some unusual items in this shop, and some of them aren't friendly," he advised them.
Fred and Pat glanced at each other, and followed their guide into the shop. Fred was presented with new and strange sights. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls of the small shop, and those were filled with jars and books. The jars were made of a murky glass that distorted the contents, but Fred was grateful for that; he swore some of the jars contained eyeballs and pickled bats.
A counter stood in the back with an old woman behind it. Ned went up to the old woman and gave her a smile. "Good afternoon, old mother. Have you any pay-dirt in stock?" She nodded at a barrel close at hand, and Ned opened the lid. He dipped his hand in and brought up the mud. "Pat, will you give me your hand to test this?" Pat grumbled, since she knew and envied Fred's immunity to the greed charm on the mud, and went over to assist.
That left Fred on his own, and he browsed a shelf close at hand. There were only books there, and he took down a large tome. He opened the book and was disappointed when there weren't any pictures. His interest quickly faded, he closed the book and put it back on the shelf. However, when he pulled away the book came with him. Fred turned and stared at his hand; the book's spine was attached to his fingers. He jumped back and waved his hand wildly in the air; the pages of the book flapped and the covers slammed together, but the tome remained pressed to his hand. He grabbed the book with his other hand and felt his trapped hand slip from the binding, but now his formerly free hand was stuck to the book.
With all the commotion Fred caught the attention of the other three, particularly the old woman. "Mind the jars, boy!" she scolded.
Ned sauntered over to Fred and caught him by the shoulder before he flung himself into a couple of barrels full of acid. "Whoa there, Fred. What's bothering you so much?"
"I can't get this book off! It won't let go!" Fred ye
lled. He pulled and yanked, but his hands only traded places with being bound to the book.
Ned chuckled and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Some books just can't be put down until they're read all the way through. Perhaps you should just read what's inside and see if that breaks the spell," he commented.
Fred paled at the suggestion. "But I can't read!" he told Ned.
Ned jerked back and his eyes lit up in surprise. "Well then, that is a problem," Ned mused. He stroked his beard and nodded at the back of the book. "Perhaps you should finish the book anyway."
"But I told you I can't read!" the boy insisted.
"Open the book to the end," Ned suggested. Fred stood there in disbelief, but the old man only grinned. "Go on, open it to the last page."
Fred thought the plan sounded foolish, but he did as was asked. The moment he opened to the last page the book, in its precarious position, slipped from his hand. Ned swiftly stooped and caught the book before it hit the floor. "A relatively safe lesson in curiosity. Mind you heed it," he lightly scolded.
"I'll heed it outside," Fred replied.
CHAPTER 4
Fred hurried out of the shop and was grateful to breathe the stagnant air of the town. His eyes wandered over the shoppers and stall keepers close by, and he ventured out into the main market area. Fred hardly moved a few yards from the alley before he heard a commotion around the corner. His curiosity swept aside his caution, and besides, he wouldn't go far and would be back before the others were done with his shopping. He went around a nearby corner, and found a group of men and women who stood at the entrance to one of the darkest and narrowest alleys. They had their attention on something in there; Fred jumped up and down, but the crowd was too packed around something on the ground for him to catch a glimpse of it himself.
Fred noticed a pile of crates along one of the walls and jumped on top of one of them to get a view. He reached the second tier and the moment his foot stomped down on the wood he felt the boards shift beneath him. The movement threw him off balance, and he flailed his arms as he fell down into the crowd. His hands knocked into faces and limbs, and the people pushed back against him. They inadvertently shoved him along their shoulders to the front where he was unceremoniously dropped to the ground on his back. The air was knocked from his lungs, and Fred wheezed and rolled over onto his stomach. He stuck his face into that of a dead man.
The man lay on his back, and his eyes were open and stared lifelessly up at the sky. There was no sign of what had killed him, but Fred noticed that a dirty, multi-colored cat sat beside the man's waist. Its golden eyes watched him with the same interest as he watched it.
Somebody behind him gave him a kick closer to the dead man. The boy yelped and fell back on his rear away from the corpse; there was no telling what killed him and Fred didn't want to take any chances with disease. The crowd roared with laughter over his fear, but their humor died when they heard the clanging of metal. The guards of the town soon arrived and pushed their way through the crowds. Fred scrambled to the side before they booted him with their pointed metal shoes. One of the men, the captain by the higher crest on his helmet, knelt beside the body and frowned. "It's a pimp," he informed his men.
"And one of the lower ones. I know him from his gambling debts," one of his men remarked. "He was as bad at cards as he was at wooing women."
The men chuckled at the joke until their leader glared at them. "Unlucky pimp or not, this man's been murdered and we need to find the murderer." He pulled something out of the man's neck and held up a small dart. "Unless you men believe he stuck himself with a poison dart."
"Sorry, sir, we'll get on it," his man replied.
Fred heard a man murmur to another close at hand. "It must be Sins," he whispered to his companion.
"Sins?" the other one asked.
The first man rolled his eyes. "You know, the deadly assassin, the Deadly Sins, the one who only takes on jobs to kill men who commit sins. I bet you a gold coin the pimp's debtors must have wanted to collect on this man's debt and had Sins do him in."
His friend chuckled. "Well, being a pimp and a gambler definitely would've made him a good target."
Their conversation was interrupted when the guards turned their attention on the crowd, and suddenly everyone had somewhere else they needed to be. The men grabbed those closest to the body before they could flee, while the others at the back spilled out into the streets. Half the crowd managed to escape, though with the lead guard close at their heals. Unfortunately, Fred was in the half that were rounded up. One of the guards picked him up by his collar and tossed him together with the others.
"Wait a moment, that's my boy," a voice spoke up.
The guards and Fred turned toward the alley entrance, where stood a tall man with long black whiskers and slicked-back black hair. Fred had never seen the man before, but the stranger walked up to him and put his hand on Fred's shoulder. "This is my son. I'm sure he wasn't involved in any of this."
"Oh yeah, and who are you?" one of the guards asked him.
The man pulled out a bag that jingled with coins. "Someone who doesn't like questions, but would like this boy released," he replied, and jangled the bag for good measure.
"Well, those credentials work out for us," the guard answered with a laugh.
Fred watched gold exchange hands, and he was quickly handed over to the stranger. The man hurriedly led him out of the alley and turned down a side street close at hand that skirted the marketplace. "Why did you do that?" Fred asked the stranger.
"Oh, let's just say I like the look of you," the man told him. "Ah, but where are my manners? My name is Slavino."
"My name's Fred."
"Fred?" the man repeated. "Just Fred? No family name?"
Fred shrugged. "I don't have family," the boy replied.
Slavino's eyebrows raised and the edges of his mouth twitched. "No friends or acquaintances that might get you out of a tight spot?"
"I have a lord who just bought me. I should return to him right now." Fred made to leave, but the man put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Slavino patted the boy on the back. "Well, Fred, perhaps we'll do something about that later. For now how about you step into my house and take a drink? I'm sure that after such a scare you're parched."
"I haven't had anything to drink in a while," Fred admitted. Not since his companions and he were on the road, and they happened to pass close to the river.
"Then let's get you some of my special drink. That will pick you right up," Slavino offered. Fred followed the man into an old, rundown house, very different from what he expected for a man so rich. There was a simple table with two broken chairs, and a trunk in one corner. Slavino offered him a chair while he pulled out a flask from his coat. "I'm afraid I don't have any glasses, but I'm sure you're not used to too much finery."
"It's fine," Fred replied with a smile. He took the flask and put the bottle to his mouth. His nose caught a whiff of the contents and he started back. For the first time he worried about his predicament. "What's in this stuff?"
"Oh, just some herbs and spices. It adds to the flavor," Slavino told him.
Fred frowned, but he was too thirsty to argue. He took a few sips, wrinkled his nose at the flavor and handed the flask back to the man. Slavino pocketed the flask without taking a sip himself. Fred slipped off his chair and smiled at his kind benefactor. "Well, thanks for the drink. I guess I'll just be going now."
Slavino stepped in his path. "Going? Why leave me when you have no one else to turn to?" the man asked him.
That cloud of doubt drifted over Fred's mind; his stomach also began to hurt. "I'm sure my lord will be worried-"
"Oh, but I must insist you stay with me," Slavino replied. He grabbed onto the boy's shoulders in a grip tight enough to make Fred squirm. "I'll be sure you're well taken care of."
Fred tried to break free, but the pain in his stomach and the man's strong grip combined to make him a prisoner. "Let go of me!" he shouted.
Slavino pushed Fred back into the corner near the trunk. "Well, no matter with your friends. They won't be able to recognize you soon, anyway."
The man stepped over to him and Fred crawled back against the trunk. "W-what do you mean?" The boy's eyes widened when Slavino pulled a knife from his belt; he would be cut up and left for dead. "P-please don't! I won't tell anyone about this, I swear!"
"I'm sure you won't, girl, because nobody's going to believe you."
Fred blinked; the man just called him a girl. However, the pain in his stomach distracted him from any other thoughts. He clutched at his gut and doubled over. The agony traveled over his entire body, and he grit his teeth when his skin began to tingle. "What-what did you do to me?" he asked Slavino.
The man ignored him and knelt down in front of Fred. Slavino brought the knife down on the boy's clothing and tore it away, stripping him of everything except his underclothes. Fred looked down at himself and his eyes widened in horror; his skin pushed and flowed over his bones like waves of water. His flat, tanned chest bulged out in two points beneath his nipples; he now had a pair of fine breasts. His hair tumbled over his shoulders and covered the breasts. The skin on his legs and arms stretched and smoothed out while his feet narrowed. He raised his shaking fingers and watched them thin and lengthen. A coughing fit overcame him, and he heard his voice change from a low register to a higher one.
The transformation took only a minute, and when the pain left him Fred glanced down at himself and didn't recognize the body. He was a girl in every physical sense of the word. Slavino looked over him and rubbed his chin. "A little too tan for a high price, but the face and body are good," the man mumbled to himself.
The Unwilling Adventurer (The Unwilling #1) Page 3
