RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 4 - HASPEN (Part Two)

At the Bank of Rhidauna, Ghyll exchanged the bag of coins for letters of credit every honest merchant would accept.

After that, they went shopping. The boys had fled to Gromarthen with nothing more than the clothes they wore, so they had a whole list of things they needed. Saddle bags and water flasks; sleeping blankets, tinder boxes, a small pot for roadside dinners. An ax, a small spade; spare clothing, including fine garments and flamboyant hats, for they were young, and wanted to look well. In their spending spree, they did not forget Damion, though they were uncertain about his size and had no idea of his taste.

They went through Gromarthen's entire commercial district, visiting shop after shop, until they came to a crossroads with a tavern on the corner. A dented kettle full of scarlet begonias on a hook above the door betrayed the name of the establishment, The Copper Pot. Once past the crossing, the character of the displays changed. No fine goods here, but mundane things like clogs or not-quite-fresh greenery. The houses did not look so self-satisfied, either. Faded signs creaked in the wind; windowpanes were opaque with dirt, with the paint peeling from their frames. The smell of boiled cabbage mingled with the stench of rotting offal from the nearby harbor. The streets were busy, but the people looked different. Folks seemed not only poor, but rough in a way that Ghyll hadn't seen before. Children cried, women wrangled and two dogs fought growling for something indefinable. Bustle and noise, and nowhere a guard in sight.

Olle leaned toward his foster brother and said softly, 'Don't look, but there's a fellow in a brown cloak following us for a while now.'

'Eh?' Ghyll's thoughts were with a blonde trollop across the street, whose prancing breasts threatened to leap out of her dress. Red-faced, he turned to his foster brother.

'I don't like it,' Olle said. 'Every time we stop somewhere, he does the same.'

Ghyll's pleasant thoughts evaporated. 'A pickpocket?' Feigning interest, he gazed at the merchandise in a dusty shop window. With a little effort, he found that he could see the reflection of their pursuer in the glass. It was a small man in a faded brown cloak, with the hood pulled far down over his head, hiding his face.

'So that's him. Come on.' Resolutely Ghyll entered the shop. 'Let's see what he does.'

Two heartbeats later, they saw the silhouette of a small man in a long cape appear on the other side of the window.

'He's watching us,' Ghyll whispered.

'Can I help you?' a voice said, and Ghyll started. Only then he realized they were in a shop for magical contrivances. The proprietor, a heavyset man with a gloomy face, looked them over pensively.

'Excuse me, master merchant,' Ghyll said. 'Neither of us have any knowledge of magic. We just stepped inside to get off the street for a moment.' Then he got an idea. 'Do you have anything against unwanted pursuers?'

The man's sad eyes studied the two young men a moment longer before he nodded. 'Of course, dominus. You are in a neighborhood where pursuers are countless and generally undesired. Right across the street is the temple of Klinkilla, Mother of Thieves. The underclass hangs around her doors like flies to the fimus equus, what the layman calls horseshit. You will find more pickpockets, black marketers, thieves, and illegal soothsayers in the streets between De Copper Pot and the harbor, than anywhere else in the city. Servo vestri promptus mucro, I always say, keep your sword ready.' He rummaged in a drawer of the counter and pulled out a paper bag. 'Here you are,' he said. 'Nachtalene. If you blow this in the face of the pursuer, he will be blind for days. It will cost you two crowns, dominus, and that,' he concluded with a vague nod to the shop window, 'is only as cheap as that because your pursuer doesn't belong in this area; sit extraneus, a stranger.'