The Unwilling Adventurer (The Unwilling #1) (4 page)

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 yelled. 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."