The Venomancer

I.6 - The Painted Poacher

Tan heaved the urn higher onto his shoulder, humming tunelessly, as he'd never had his brother's ear for tone. The giant Inner Gates of the double-walled citadel towered above him as he reached the lowgrounds. He'd bypassed the Grand Market already, maintaining a wide berth past members of the Guard engaged in conversation with a flustered, animated Monas. He even felt the faintest pang of guilt. The man had called him handsome, after all.

Entering Farba'al Mar hadn't posed much of a problem after dressing in silk and relinquishing a small amount of stolen coins for the toll. Assuming nobody recognised him, and, dressed like the peasant he was, the upper-class High Farbans wouldn't prevent a nameless commoner from leaving their city ... In theory.

"Pardons," said one of the guards as Tan approached. He stopped and ceased humming. "Your reason for leave?"

"What? Do I need me one?" I can't pull off this accent for beans.

"Yes."

"Fine ... fine. I'm returnin' this empty urn to the stables in South. Go and ask Ol' Mayzhu, the bald guy which buys the mare's milk, he lives up that way if you don't believe me none. The bossman don't like doin' the legwork so he sends me instead." Tan wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

"You will not pass through here without inspection," was his stiff reply. "You could be smuggling anything."

"Sure. You can check the urn if you want to, I ain't got aught to hide." Tan set the urn down on the dusty granite and unhooked the lid. "It's empty, jus' like I said, suh." The guard spared the rim a glance, evidently not enjoying his proximity to snivelling filth.

"Empty your pockets." Tan did so and the guard honed in on a small, metal vial, flipping it over in his palm. "What's this?"

"A lighter, suh, from Odeis. Gift from a friend'a mine livin' out that way. You flick the wheel and it ignites the fuel inside, easy as anythin'. Flame pops up and you light tobacco with it. They smoke it in pipes sometimes out west."

"Speak Farban. I asked you what it is."

Tan lowered his voice and said, "An invention."

"Pah. Faithless meddling. Get this out of my sight and don't let me catch you with one again."

"Certainly."

"Join the exiting group behind me," he grumbled, indicating to the Gamlakhi gathered at the gate. "And be quick - the gatemen won't open the door long enough for you to exit without losing one of your feet if you're not."

"Thanks, my friend." The guard gave a signal and the steel hinges creaked into action. A gap appeared in the shade, a slice of freedom, though he barely even managed two strides before somebody stopped him again.

"Tsa kaaf!" called out another lean guard, jogging over with his lance poised. "Hold on! Hold on." The war-paint on his face formed the details of a dune wolf's; he'd darkened his eyelids into an elongated shape and inked beautiful, jagged patterns elsewhere, like fur. "You," he snarled and grabbed Tan's upper arm like a vice. "Get back there. Take your urn and stay inside the citadel until I say so. I have business with you."

"Sir? What are you doing?" said the first guard meekly, tapping the butt of his lance on the floor with a clang.

"Yeah, what're ya doin'?" Tan protested.

"Don't question me, boy," snapped the second.

"Then I ain't movin' nowhere."

"Kouhshan," the second said to the first, "this grimy peasant owes me labour."

"What for?"

"For breaking a window on my villa while playing a ball-game in the street. This is the first I have seen his face since. I urge we detain him for wronging a High Farban. And answering back to one."

"What?" spat Tan, writhing in the man's grasp. "I just got here!"

The guard rested his blade on Tan's neck. "Did you think I wouldn't catch you if you didn't show up? You don't know the efficiency of the Painted Guard, clearly. Get back up that slope and arrange your punishment with me or face legal consequences in the palace grounds. I hear the Oval Court is particularly unkind of late. It's your choice."

"I'm not fixin' no bloody window. Who the hell do you think you are?"

"I am the only one that may grant your leave at the Inner Gate! Now move!" The guard twisted Tan's flesh and marched him up the central avenue.

A little way up and out of view of the gates, the guard pulled Tan into an alley and released him. Tan threw himself against the wall, cowering behind the urn.

"What're you damn well doin'? Y-You've got the wrong boy."

"It might be that I have."

"I've done nothin' to you, my friend. I'm a delivery boy, I gotta return this to the - " But the guard hmph-ed and stretched one corner of his lips into a half-smile. "What? What's so funny?"

The man unfurled his palms to him and gave a single, satisfied nod. "Your accent. Stop acting, Tandei. You've given yourself away already."