Fortress Walls

Chapter X, Part 2

They reached Pig’s Eye at about four-o-clock in the afternoon. The woods had grown thicker for a half mile or so before the travelers had come to a road leading straight up to the gates of the town. Now, standing nearby, they looked up at the high wall, dismayed. The gates were open, but they were guarded, and it was clear they wouldn’t be able to enter without identifying themselves.

“There’s a wall," Sutton said.

“Of course there is,” said Tariq. He didn’t seem concerned. “They live smack in the middle of the Wilderness. Wouldn’t you want a wall to keep the ghouls out at night?”

“But it keeps us out, too.”

“Well, then it’s doing its job. Just go in,” he said. “They’ve no reason to arrest you.”

“But what about you?” said Phineas.

“I’ll meet you inside the town.”

“Shouldn’t we all sneak in?"

“Then they will have a reason to arrest you.”

He left the road, set off into the thick forest pressing up to the town’s edge along the wall, and soon disappeared.

The other three looked at each other and made for the gate.

As Tariq had predicted, they faced hardly any resistance from the guards to enter. They simply had to give their names and their purpose in Pig’s Eye, and they were let in. They wandered the main street, unsure of where to go. Tariq had simply said they’d meet “inside town” —they were inside now, but he was nowhere to be seen.

The working hours of the day were not yet over, so the main street was busy. Women hurried past with large baskets of wares, or bent over market stalls, musing on the best vegetables. Rickety carriages rattled by, their drivers screaming at the dark-skinned children who ran foolishly in front of their horses. Vendors hawked their goods in booming voices.

Pig's Eye was a Norgathan town, but because of its proximity to the border, the people in the street spoke the language with an unfamiliar twang, so that the boys couldn’t make out every word easily. The voices became a jumble of something that vaguely resembled the Norgathan that the boys spoke, mishmashed with the frequent shout of rapid Tavarian. Many of the faces in the street were brown ones, and the fair-skinned boys, obviously upper-class and city-bred, received many sour looks.

Their search for Tariq became a bit more anxious as more minutes passed and he was nowhere to be seen.

Only Sutton seemed excited by the prospect of this new town, the closest thing to a foreign country that he’d ever experienced. Phineas had to drag him away from several vendors, hypnotized as he was by the brightly-colored banners on the market stalls and the savory smell of hot grilled vegetables.

“But I’m hungry!” he protested, looking longingly over his shoulder at the stall selling kebabs.

“We just ate lunch a few hours ago, and we’ll eat supper soon. Come on.”

“There’s no streetcars,” Sutton said, looking around. His disappointment hadn’t lasted long against his insatiable curiosity.

“Of course not,” Cass snapped. “This isn’t the capital. Don’t tell me you expected streetcars in a backwater like this.”

He seemed more on edge than anyone. Something about the strange faces, the jumble of unfamiliar language, had turned him pale and jumpy.

“Where is he?” Phineas muttered, biting a fingernail.

~

Tariq was good at climbing, and he’d always liked it. It had been one of his only ways to get around as a small child, after all, scrambling up and down walls with his hands and foot. He’d never in his life been content to stay confined to a wheelchair. It was hardly a struggle, then, to get over the wall unseen into Pig’s Eye.

On the other side, he found himself in a quiet backstreet sandwiched between the high wall and the back of some large, unremarkable building. Only a little strip of sky was visible overhead; very little daylight made it back here. He allowed himself to feel a bit pleased with his choice of entry.

He poked around the back alleys for a while, trying to familiarize himself with them quickly. It would be better, he thought, if they didn’t have to take the main streets everywhere. The stores all had back doors, but most of them were marked ‘No Entry.’ It didn’t bother him much. As long as they didn’t spend much time in the open, a little couldn’t hurt. He doubted word of his escape would have reached a little forest town like this, anyway.

A shadow moved in the adjoining alley, and he snapped out of his musing, all his instincts on alert.

The man in the alley, realizing his cover was blown, moved out in front of Tariq, brandishing a knife. He looked to be Tavarian, but he spoke Norgathan with a heavy accent.

“Your money, Andean bastard.”

Tariq sized the man up, unperturbed. The would-be robber was bigger than him, but not by too much. Just looking at him, Tariq knew the knife was mostly for show, and he wouldn’t put up a fight.

Irritated by the lack of fear and trembling from his victim, the robber growled and made a few threatening jabs in the air with the knife.

Tariq sighed. He’d been needing something more subtle than his tattered military uniform, anyway. This small fry wasn’t even worth getting out his machete, let alone his swords—he felt for one of his small hidden knives, giving the robber a wry smile.

~

Phineas and Cass had given in to Sutton’s begging and the promptings of their own stomachs and bought something to eat from one of the market stalls. They sat in the space between two shops just off the main street munching on their kebabs when Tariq found them.

Food had seemed to soothe their fears. Phineas, who’d been worrying like a mother hen, waved a hand absently while gnawing the last juicy chunk of meat from his skewer.

“Hullo, Tariq. We got you one, don’t worry.”

A bit surprised, Tariq took the skewer Sutton held out to him. The red-haired boy grinned at him, his mouth full of meat and sweet peppers.

“Good thing you showed up when you did. I might have eaten it myself. Those Tavarians sure do make good food. Mm! Couldn’t get anything like this in the capital.”

“Thanks,” Tariq said, and he sat down with them and took a bite. It was good, if not quite hot.

Phineas glanced at him. “Where’d you get those clothes? Been shopping already?”

Tariq looked down at himself, as if he’d already forgotten what he was wearing. “I got mugged.”

Phineas tilted his head, frowning. It didn’t add up.

“I did leave him his trousers,” Tariq said. “It’s a bit chilly today, after all. I would’ve left the cloak, but it was too perfect.”

Cass snorted. “Don’t mug Fin’s brother, I guess.”

“My name’s Tariq."

“I feel sorry for the robber,” said Phineas, finally understanding what had happened.

Tariq shrugged.

Phineas looked at him critically for a moment. The clothes were too big and hung unbecomingly on Tariq’s thin body, but he had to admit it had been a good idea.

“Where are your swords?” he asked.

Tariq patted his sides. He’d unfastened the double scabbards from their shoulder straps and put them on his belt instead. “Better not to have them obvious.”

“H’m.”

Phineas sighed and patted his stomach, content to move on. “Well, I for one like letting Sutton lead. Tariq doesn’t let us snack."

Tariq huffed a bit, but he was too busy with his kebab to care much.

Cass threw his skewer aside. He was scowling; he’d been preoccupied by something almost the whole time they’d been in town.

“Tariq,” he said, “There are a lot of Tavarians in this town.”

“Yes,” Tariq said, his mouth full.

“Did you say you’ve been to this town before?”

Tariq swallowed his bite and said, “I didn’t say that, but I have. A few years ago.”

“Why didn’t you say it was a Tavarian town?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“It matters,” Cass said, offended.

“What’s wrong with Tavarians?”

Cass curled his lip in disgust, as if to say dirty peasants.

“If they’re unfriendly, they’ve a right to be. Norgath was theirs to begin with.” Tariq shrugged.

“They were just savages. They should be grateful. We brought civilization to them.”

Tariq looked at him askance. “Is that what you learned in school?”

“Clearly you didn’t even go to school.”

“I was lucky to get the education I did,” Tariq said, unruffled, returning to his food.

“Well then, you should have learned about the first Avelon king, who left the great Andes in the far north with his mighty, fair-skinned warriors to find a greener land across the North Sea. The Tavar people welcomed him as if he were a god. They willingly made the Andeans their overlords.”

“You sound like you’re quoting a history book,” said Tariq. Someone else might have been amused, but he didn’t sound amused. He was beginning to be a little angry instead.

“He is,” Phineas said with an uncharacteristic snicker.

“An Andean history book?” said Tariq. “That’s not what happened. They fought us hard for their land. We conquered them and made them our slaves.”

Cass seemed a bit taken aback.

“Well, history’s supposed to be written by the winners,” he said haughtily. “Your history teacher must have been Tavarian. I’m sure they twisted the story however they wanted.”

“Why would they have done that,” Tariq said quietly, “if they had nothing to be angry about?”

Cass shrugged. “I don’t see why you’re so concerned. You’re descended from Andeans as much as us.”

Tariq didn’t answer him. “We should get going,” he said. “It’s late.”

He got up and walked down the alley toward the backstreet, tossing his skewer aside and pulling up the hood of his cloak.

The boys looked at each other—Cass fuming, Phineas and Sutton silent and worried—but they got up and followed him.

He stopped soon. He’d found a promising store on his way to find his companions. Over the back entrance there hung a sign painted in cheerful yellow: ‘General Store.’ The words were repeated underneath in Tavarian. An arrow pointed around to the front entrance. Tariq beckoned his companions out to the open street.

“Here’s a supply store. Would you three prefer to wait outside?”

“Whatever,” Cass said. He was still hot with annoyance; he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tariq might have been at least a little bit right.

“We’ll come in,” said Phineas. “You’ll need extra hands to carry.”

The shop was clean and smelled of woodchips and cornmeal and dried beef. The afternoon sunshine streamed in through the front windows, cut into golden stripes by the shelves. The shopkeeper at the back was mostly blocked from view by a pair of large, steel-toed boots, their feet crossed up on the counter. Behind the counter was a curtain blocking the adjoining room from view.

Tariq stood uncertainly for a moment, fingering the small coin-pouch in his pocket. He’d felt rich when he’d received the extra wages for ESAIC a few weeks ago, but now it occurred to him that this was what he’d be living on for several months, at least. He’d have to be frugal. But a small cast-iron cookpot on the nearest shelf had caught his eye—he knew his companions were tired of cold meals...

Necessity won over frugality. He took the pot and handed it to Phineas, then set about finding the foodstuffs that were provided on the shelves. He’d have to ask for bulk items. He was walking to the counter with an armful of supplies when he remembered his first aid kit was running low, and he deposited his armful on Sutton while he went back to the shelves for gauze and ointment.

The shopkeeper glared at the boys from behind the large steel-toed boots.

Tariq came back the counter and set his things down, nodding at Phineas and Sutton to do the same. The shopkeeper removed her boots from the counter, sat up, and scowled at them. She was Tavarian, tall and sturdily built, her curly hair cut short and pulled into a small ponytail, strands escaping all around her face. Her dark eyes were distinctly unfriendly.

“How much does this come to?” Tariq asked, gesturing at the pile of supplies. He didn’t seem put off by her hostility; if anything, he was more polite than usual.

She didn’t move to count up the prices, just kept staring at him in open enmity. “We don’t serve Andeans here,” she said. She spoke their language, but she spoke it as if it dirtied her mouth.

Tariq felt his companions shifting nervously behind him. He placed his fingertips on the edge of the counter, looking meditatively at the pile of supplies. After a moment, he pulled out his coin purse.

“I think fifteen silver would be reasonable,” he said, counting out the coins into his palm.

“I said I don’t serve your kind, bitch,” the girl snarled. “Get out of my shop.”

Tariq looked her in the eyes, his jaw tightening. He closed his fist over the coins. “I don’t have much time.”

“I don’t care. Get out.”

“Please,” said Tariq.

The girl snickered nastily. “An Andean and a wuss,” she said to the air behind Tariq. “Why should I please you? You’re Andean and a wuss. You even look like a girl, with those long eyelashes. You looking to get beat up?”

Tariq was blushing. The more she pushed back, the less inclined he was to give in and leave without a fight.

Phineas was angry now, too. He stepped up to the counter. “You sure you want a fight with him, girl?”

Tariq smacked his arm. “I’ll deal with it.” To the girl he said, “I’m not leaving without my supplies. If you want us to get out, then just let us buy these things.”

The girl shook her head. A few more curls escaped from her ponytail. “I’m not serving you. Get out, or I’ll throw you out myself.”

Cass snickered at the idea of one girl throwing out the four of them. Tariq rounded on him, frustrated. “Shut up!”

The girl was laughing too, but her eyes had murder in them, not humor.

Behind the girl, the curtain slid open, and a man came out of the back room. He was old, his back bowed from years of hard work, his face worn and lined and his hair and beard gray. He put a hand on the girl’s shoulder, sending the would-be customers a swift glance, and said something in Tavarian. The girl answered angrily.

Tariq kept his face blank.

The old man gave the girl’s shoulder a quick squeeze and looked up at the boys. “I’m sorry about my daughter,” he said in heavily accented Norgathan. “She’s a bit headstrong. Give me a moment, and I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” Tariq said, bobbing his head.

The girl gritted her teeth, leapt up, and stalked into the back room, sliding the curtain shut behind her so furiously that it went too far, leaving half of the doorway open on the other side. The man looked after her, a bit worried, then fixed the curtain, sat down, and smiled brightly at Tariq.

“Forgive us. How may I help you?”

Tariq thanked him again. “How much do these things come to?”

“Of course.” The old shop owner’s brown, gnarled hands moved quickly, examining and counting each item.

“Sixteen silver.”

Tariq nodded and pulled out another coin. “That’s good.”

“Anything else? I can get you any bulk foodstuffs from the cold room in the back.”

“Yes, please. A pound of flour, and two of dried meat if you have it.”

The man nodded and disappeared behind the curtain again. As they waited, the girl’s voice rose in a furious waterfall of scolding; it seemed she was still angry. The man answered her, calm and quiet, and she, too, was calmer when she spoke again.

The man returned quickly with three paper bags of different sizes, which he set on the counter. “I added spices for free,” he said, gesturing to the smallest bag. “A little apology for my daughter’s rudeness. We don’t reject any customer.”

Tariq cracked a small smile. “Thank you. It will be much appreciated. What’s my total?”

“Twenty-three.”

Phineas stepped forward to hand Tariq his own purse. “I'll split the payment, Tariq.”

Tariq looked at him for a moment as if surprised, but he nodded and accepted the purse. He counted out the coins and paid the shopkeeper, who gathered the items into a large paper bag and pushed it forward.

“Young man,” he said to Tariq, his expression suddenly not quite so bright. “A word?”

Tariq took the bags and handed them off to his companions. “Wait outside,” he said, his face blank.

Phineas looked askance at the shopkeeper, but Tariq nodded in encouragement, and they left the shop.

“God go with you, young travelers,” the shopkeeper called after them, waving a hand and smiling brightly.

“Thanks!” Sutton called back with his own grin and wave.

The bell on the door tinkled. The shopkeeper watched until the boys were gone, then he looked at Tariq, his eyes suddenly very serious. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a slip of paper and slid it across to Tariq. “You must have stuck to the backstreets, or you would have seen this.”

Tariq looked down at the paper. His own face stared back up at him. He ran his finger along the words Wanted Dead or Alive. 15, 000 Gold.